Even the Strongest Fall—Part 1: Burgundy Sands
by tenjounotora
Summary: Even the Strongest Fall: A series of stories exploring PTSD in the family. Part 1: Burgundy Sands: Scott Tracy. — Jeff Tracy is gone and Scott has been called before the GDF and forced to come to terms with something he'd rather not think about. — Warning: Graphic Violence and Imagery Thanks: Big thank you to ScribeOfRED for being my beta!
1. The Expected from The Unexpected

Chapter 1: The Expected from The Unexpected

Scott climbed out of the small sports car and dusted the front of his suit out, making sure it was still neat and free of wrinkles. He looked up at the building before him as he closed the door and locked it, frowning as he made his way to the front doors. He had been called in by the GDF to discuss something —they hadn't exactly said what in their communications. Scott knew something like this was going to happen —they had finally given up searching for their father's missing plane a month ago, 184 days since he had disappeared, and the higher-ups would want a word with the new commander of International Rescue. Scott had not expected the message to come via a private messenger to the island, nor for it to mention an inquiry, or for it to tell him to dress appropriately. Did they expect him to show up in his blues?

He shook his head to clear it of abstract thoughts. He was nervous, but this wasn't the first time he had been involved in a meeting of this caliber. He had been with his father a few times when he had come to discuss issues between the GDF and International Rescue. There had been such an issue when a classified sub was trying to track Thunderbird 1 as it returned home after a rescue. John had picked up the tracking signal and called them out on it. Scott's father had been called to explain themselves, and Scott had tagged along. He remembers the meeting room, and it looked much like one of his father's conference rooms in any of his numerous office buildings across the States. He had been delegated to stand along the wall any time he had gone with his father, and he couldn't help but smile a little at the thought that he would be able to sit at the adult table and speak with these men on equal terms, because he was an adult and was now commander of his father's precious organization.

He opened the door and provided the security guard at the entrance his driver's license. Once it was cleared and he was given a visitor's badge, he passed through the metal detectors unhindered and made his way to the reception desk. However, he was caught off guard by a familiar face. He hadn't expected her to be there, and he was torn between being grateful and wishing she had let him do this on his own.

"Scott, it's good to see you." Colonel Casey nodded as Scott walked up to her. "I was thinking of going and see you boys but then I got notice of this meeting."

"You were called here as well?" Scott was a little shocked at this and frowned.

"I'm not required to be here, no, but something didn't seem right, so I thought I would accompany you."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, check in with the receptionist and you'll see what I mean."

Scott's frown deepened as he walked over to the receptionist. She was a civilian, headset on her head and typing a hundred words a minute on the computer in front of her.

"Excuse me, I'm here for a meeting, name's Scott Tracy."

"Yes, Mr. Tracy, they are expecting you in tribunal room 321B."

"Tribunal room?"

"Yes, sir."

Scott blinked at the receptionist but then took the slip she handed him and turned back to the Colonel.

"See?" She smiled as he joined her.

"We haven't done anything wrong, have we?"

"Not that I'm aware of, but I also don't have full disclosure of what goes on between IR and the GDF."

"I mean, we just suspended activities for a month while we searched, they said it was okay, that they understood."

"Scott." Colonel Casey took his shoulder and pulled him to a stop, making him turn and look at her. "This is not the time to be questioning yourself. Whatever happens in this room, you have to face it as a commander."

"Right, of course." Scott nodded and took a deep breath, calming himself.

They made their way up to the room in quiet reflection, Scott thinking through everything they had done in the past six months, trying to find something that might have angered the military origination.

Colonel Casey stopped in front of the mahogany doors that seemed far taller than what they were. She stepped before Scott and pulled the door open, motioning for him to go on ahead of her. He nodded, took a gulp of air, and then stepped in. The room was nothing but mahogany—the floors, walls, and ceiling were all the same. Even the chairs and benches and tables were all the same monochromatic wood. There were benches starting at the back of the room, going forward about ten rows before a half wall cut them off from the main part of the room. In this part, there was a large curved desk, where five of the higher brass sat talking to each other. They all wore their uniforms, and it seemed the moment Scott entered, they quieted down and watched his every step through the room. Colonel Casey laid her hand on his shoulder and squeezed it as she stepped into the first row of benches. Scott nodded back to her and walked through the small door to stand in front of a podium.

"Scott Carpenter Tracy." The man in the middle addressed Scott as he leaned forward a bit. "We are here today to discuss the continued affiliation of International Rescue and the Global Defense Force."

"Discuss, feels more like a trial." Scott smiled trying to ease the tension that was building in the room.

"That is because we are not sure we wish to continue." This was said by a woman to the right of the man in the center.

"We knew what we were dealing with when we agreed to your father's proposition. However, now that he is no longer among us —." It was now a man on the far right of the table, but Scott cut him off.

"He's not dead, we haven't found —"

"You will not interrupt us." The first man's voice shook throughout the room. "You will not speak unless spoken to. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir." Each word was quick and sharp.

There was a nameplate in front of each of the generals that sat before him, above him even. On the left was Brigadier General Diaz a woman with a stern face and cold gray eyes. Next to her was Major General Sal—young for his position, he looked to have grown up in the military and had never let his hair grow longer than a cropped cut in his life. His eyes were boring into Scott, and it was all he could do not to stare back at him. Next along the row was Lieutenant General Belousov, a man even his father hated to deal with. Scott had seen an argument between the two before, and it was very much two brick walls trying to bust through one another. To his right was Major General Andreasson; she looked a little kinder, but he knew better than to trust the upper echelon of the military. Finally on the far right side was Major General Huston. He was the only exception to the group, and Scott knew that he was a kind man and that maybe, whatever went on in this hearing, he would possibly be on his side.

"As I was saying." Major General Huston smiled kindly at Scott. "Now that your father is no longer among us, we must re-evaluate our relationship."

"We are taking into assumption that you have taken over command of the organization. Is this correct?" Lieutenant General Belousov was still leaning forward, hoping to put stress on Scott.

"Yes, sir." Scott bit firmly at each word as he frowned up at him.

"Very well, then. Shall we start?" Belousov looked over to those on either side of him. They all nodded, and he lifted a stack of papers and tapped them neatly on the desk before him. They were the hard copies of Scott's records, something that should have never seen the light of day. "Scott Carpenter Tracy. Born April 14th, 2039, to Jefferson and Lucille Tracy. Four younger brothers: John Glenn, Virgil Grissom, Gordon Cooper, and Alan Shepard. Graduated from high school in 2056, Yale in 2059, and Oxford in 2061, after which you joined the US Air Force. After bootcamp and flight training, you were stationed at Nellis Air Force Base in Nevada as part of the 474th Tactical Fighter Wing. Within that, you were a member of the 429th Tactical Fighter Squadron called the Black Falcons. After two months within the squadron, you were given the call sign Toto."

Several of the generals raised their eyebrows at him and wore humored grins.

"Mind to tell us how you received that name?" General Diaz's smile looked more cruel than humorous.

"I had no choice in the matter, they choose it because I was from Kansas," Scott tried to put as little emotion as he could in his voice. He hadn't really cared about his call sign, because it could have been so much worse.

"Wouldn't Dorothy had been a better choice?" General Andreasson was absently biting the end of her pen.

"Our captain, Captain Barns' call sign was Old McDonald. Everyone in the squadron was required to have animals as call signs."

"Ah. Right, then." Belousov moved on, clearly annoyed at the interruption. "You received your first commendation on April 28th, 2062. Promoted to lieutenant. According to your record, you were an excellent pilot and showed the hallmarks of a fine leader."

"Do you think you were maybe too young at the time to become a lieutenant?" General Sal looked down at his information as if he suspected his superior had read wrong. "You were only twenty-three at the time."

"No, sir. There were lieutenants younger than I was at the time. I was told that had I joined the Air Force sooner, I would probably have been a captain by the age of twenty-four."

"Yes, that is mentioned here as well, by your Captain Barns." Belousov's mouth curled in a way that looked as if he had just ate a sour candy. "A few months later, the 474th Tactical Fighter Wing was given orders to deploy to Afghanistan, where you spent a year and a half and received the Congressional Medal of Honor. You were honorably discharged on March 15th, 2064."

Scott felt the blood rush out of him, he knees shook, and sweat beaded up on his brow. He tried his best not to move, not to change expressions. "Yes, sir."

"Would you mind explaining to us, the events that led to you receiving such a high citation?" Belousov was smiling down at Scott, knowing just what effect he was having on the young man.

Scott was clenching down on his jaw so hard his teeth were starting to hurt. His hands were curled along the edges of the podium; his knuckles were white. He lowered his head and took some deep breaths, hoping to calm his racing heart. He was afraid to look behind him at Colonel Case's sympathetic face. She knew what had happened, but he was sure she didn't know the consequences of those events. It was something he had buried a long time ago and had no intention of digging it up again. "I believe the report I gave after the events is in my file."

"Yes, and I read through it. However, for us to make certain that you are the man to run International Rescue —"

"You do not have any say in who runs International Rescue." Scott did his best to keep his voice level and mostly respectful but couldn't help making it echo a little. "It is a private organization that has tried in every way to work with the GDF. We wish to only help those in need, and I do not understand why my past has anything to do with it."

"Your past has everything to do with it." Belousov leveled his gaze at Scott. "If you do not answer the question, we can ground you and your organization right now."

"Permission to speak." Colonel Casey was suddenly just behind Scott. She hadn't touched him, but he could feel her standing there inches away, a sturdy wall to help support him. Immediately he was grateful she had come along.

"Colonel, your attendance was not mandatory." General Sal directed his stare toward her.

"No, I came under my own digression." Colonel Casey did not look at General Sal but continued to focus on General Belousov. "Permission to speak sir."

"Permission granted." Belousov frowned, obviously aggravated that his momentum had been stopped.

"You are asking Mr. Tracy to re-live something he has spent three years trying to get past. If you are looking to delve into his character, I will be more than willing to act as a witness to his past and present endeavors."

"You have already provided yourself as a witness to the Tracy family when International Rescue first approached us. Has anything changed within that time?"

"I would reaffirm everything I said at that time and add that Scott Tracy has grown as a field commander under his father's tutelage and is fully capable of taking the lead of the organization. His brothers respect him and his opinion and would trust their lives to his decisions."

"Your statement has been taken and noted; however, I still would like to hear of the events from the man himself. How he handled himself there and afterward will give us a better idea of his character than your righteous words." Belousov glared at Casey, daring her to argue against him. She, however, could not without risking punishment for insubordination, and Scott did not want her to do that.

"Thank you, colonel." Scott turned and tried to give her an assuring smile but knew it had not come across that way. "If they want to know what happened, I will tell them."

"Whenever you are ready." Belousov grinned as he leaned back in his chair and crossed his arm.

"July 24th, 2063." Scott spit out the date as if it were a bitter medicine he had been forced to swallow. The thought of it caused even more beads of sweat to roll down his temple, and he swallowed, then began.

* * *

"Sounds like you had yourself a good race." Scott smiled as he watched his youngest brother bop around on the hologram before him.

"It was amazing!" Alan grinned. "I was the youngest one there and came in third place! Terry says I have amazing talent and that I'll be eligible for the big races in another year when I turn eighteen. That is, of course, if Dad lets me."

"Well, Dad's not going to let you skip college to race, you know that, right?"

"Yeah, I know." Alan slumped a little.

"Don't worry, he knows he can't keep you off the track, so he'll let you race, just maybe not the big ones, okay?"

"Alright, I suppose that's something, at least."

"And watch those turns, will ya? Last thing I need is a call from Dad saying you flipped one of your cars."

"But it's the turns that make me go fast!"

Scott couldn't help but smile, his brother's mood had always been infectious.

"Tracy, mute that for a minute."

Scott looked up at one of the other lieutenants in his squadron, who just pointed to the front of the break room where Captain Barns was standing.

"Alan, hold on a sec, I'll be right back." Alan nodded, and Scott flipped the mute, cutting off both sound and picture for the moment before turning to face his commanding officer.

"Sorry to interrupt your fun, but there has been a change in today's schedule. Aslan, Miss Piggy, Old Yeller, and Chicken, you're scheduled flight has been canceled. It should resume at the same time tomorrow. Instead, Bull and I will be taking to the air for a small mission. We do, however, need a wingman."

He paused as a few of the pilots tried to make themselves more visible, taking steps forward or stepping in front of others. The captain looked around the room, and Scott could feel his eyes land on him, not once, or twice, but three times before he continued. "Toto, Bugs, you up to it?"

Scott sprang to his feet, followed by Bugs behind him. They both saluted. "Yes, sir."

"Good, be in the briefing room in fifteen." The captain then nodded and left the room.

"Lucky!" one of the airmen called to the two at the back of the room.

"He never picks me," another one grumped as he flopped down in a nearby couch. "And he's such a blast to fly with."

"I wonder what kind of mission it is," another comment floated their way.

Scott sat back down and unmuted the comm. "Alan, I can't stay on any longer."

"What? You said you had an hour, and it's only been half that." Alan's hologram slouched in disappointment.

"Sorry, been selected for a mission. I need to go get ready."

"Oh, cool." Alan suddenly perked up. "What is it? You going to shoot anyone down?"

"I don't know." Scott smiled. "And I hope not. I'll let you know if I can when I get back, okay?"

"Alright, you better!"

"Tell everyone I said hi and that I love them all."

"Will do. Just don't make me give them all kisses like you did Gordon."

"Ha! Did he really do it?"

"Yeah!"

"Tell him good job, then. Talk to you later, Squirt."

"See ya, Scott!"

The hologram disappeared and Scott stood.

"I still can't believe your dad is still letting him race." Bugs shook his head as he stood from where he had been talking on a comm as well. Bugs was actually Lieutenant Paul Rand, Scott's spotter and best friend. They had been paired together during training and clicked immediately.

"Well, if he knows about it he can make sure he's being safe."

"True, maybe I should mention that to my father."

"Trixi sneak out again?"

"Yeah, took part in a race last weekend and is now grounded for the rest of the year."

"If she's anything like Alan, that's not going to stop her." Scott laughed as they walked out of the break room and toward their prep area.

"Probably not." Paul smiled himself. He was quite fond of his sister and worried about her constantly. "When we get back to the States, we should get those two together. Bet they would get along just fine."

"And Alan would then be the cause for your sister's delinquency."

"Probably, but at least I would know who to yell at if she came back pregnant."

"Oh, you ass," Scott growled as he reached up and tried to hit him across the back of the head, but he had dodged and disappeared into the locker room. Scott followed but left the comment back in the hall. They stripped off their daily fatigues and pulled on their flight suits. Once suited up, they exited the room and made their way to the briefing room. It was a small room with large, comfortable chairs where, usually, they were given a reminder of their course and a quick update on the weather. On this day, however, Scott and Paul were met by Bull. Bull was Captain Barns' spotter, and the two had been friends since before either of them had entered the military. The fact that they ended up being paired up was pure chance.

"Toto, Bugs. Any idea what this is about?" Bull greeted them as they made themselves comfortable in the large chairs.

"Not a clue." Scott shook his head.

"He just said it was a mission." Paul sat down next to Captain Heinz followed by Scott. They weren't given the opportunity to theorize anything before Captain Barns walked into the room and laid his tablet on the table before them.

"Alright, here's the deal." The captain pulled up a hologram of a map with a yellow line circling around it. "We're going to be taking our usual course with the exception of right here." He jabbed his finger at a portion of the yellow line that indicated their flight path.

"Isn't that over five miles behind enemy lines?" Paul leaned forward raising his eyebrows.

"Yes, but we basically go in, fly for a few minutes, and then make our way out," the captain explained. "We are not to engage or taunt any enemy we may encounter."

"I'm sorry, sir, but what is the point of this maneuver? It's not our normal boundary pushing. I can see it only causing agitation between the two sides." Scott frowned. They had done some boundary pushing before, but this looked different than that. When they were told to push the boundaries, they would lengthen their entire course to just one or two miles inside the enemy lines and would stay there until the enemy showed up and pushed them out. The point was to slowly expand their own territory, sneakily taking a mile or two at a time. Five plus miles was a bit much for just expansion, and he was curious as to why that particular place and not the entire length of the border.

"The point is right here." Captain Barns poked at a spot on the edge of those five miles. "There is a small town here, maybe five hundred people, who are in need of supplies. The GDF is willing to give them the supplies, but they want to see how hard they are patrolling the area before they send a plane in. If we can carve out this small space as our own, then the village will get the supplies they need."

Scott nodded and looked over at Paul, who smiled as well. They all knew what kind of man Scott was. He was one that never hesitated to help anyone else that needed it. This had been proven two months ago when the air base had been attacked. They had been ordered to get to their planes and take down the enemy in the air and on the ground. Scott had made it to his plane safely, but Paul had been shot in the leg. Scott went back and got him, taking him to safety.

He wasn't the only one to have been shot, though. The pilots were open targets as they ran for their planes and snipers were taking them out one by one. Scott hadn't hesitated when he ran out and started to help pull the injured in. Only two people died that day, but many more were sent home. Paul's injury was minor and he spent only a month in the hospital until he was deemed ready for service again. The call sign Toto had taken on a new light after that day. Not only was he just from Kansas, but he was a loyal companion who would protect his allies at the cost of his own life.

They made their way out to the tarmac and their planes. Scott and Paul walked side by side as they inspected the outside of the plane, making sure everything was in working order.

"Do you think we'll get into a fight?" Paul pulled on the missiles hanging off the wing, making sure they were secure.

"Depends on how much they want that village," Scott wiggled one of the flaps as he passed. "Hopefully at the first sign of trouble, Old McDonald will tell us to get out of there."

"I don't know. It might be fun to be in a real fight. We've been here for over a year and haven't seen any action."

"You do remember getting, shot, right?" Scott asked as he stopped in front of the ladder.

"I mean in the air." Paul rolled his eyes as he slapped Scott's rear, telling him to get a move on.

Scott laughed and pulled himself up into the plane. He settled himself in, buckling his restraints and then taking his helmet from one of the mechanics. He pulled it on, strapping the oxygen mask to the other side. He could hear Paul climbing in after him and getting himself settled as well. There were two bangs on the side of the plane as the mechanic let him know that all was clear.

"You secured, Bugs?"

"Right as rain, Toto."

Scott couldn't help but smile. He was in his element, flying in a fast plane, his best friend behind him, and they were doing what they could to help bring supplies to people in need. He flipped the switch, closing the canopy, and taxied toward the runway.

Their normal flight path would have taken them north and then east along the borders of Turkmenistan and Uzbekistan before going south along the disputed border in Afghanistan, finally heading west along Pakistan and then north back to Shindand and then around again. The whole trip was just over 3,000 miles and took them just over two hours to complete. Planes would go out in rotation, so that in the air there were two to three sets of planes flying the course. This altered course was only taking them out of the way for an additional ten to fifteen minutes of flight time. Nothing major, as long as nothing happened.

They were thirty-five minutes into their trip when they reached the adjusted course for their flight. Five miles behind enemy lines for a ten minute flight and then back out to their own side.

"Toto, Bugs, we're at the point of adjustment. Remember, do not engage, period. If the enemy shows up and are hostile, we hightail it out of there, understood?" Captain Barns voice was stern and crisp over their radio.

"Roger," Scott and Paul replied.

"Bugs, keep an eye on your scanner. I'll keep watch outside."

"I'll do both," Paul replied, adjusting the scanner a bit to get a better picture. The pair of planes banked to the east and into enemy territory. The radio was silent as both planes kept an eye out for any of the enemy aircraft.

"Toto, there seems to be a shadow at one o'clock, above us," Paul announced.

Scott looked up in the appointed direction but did not see anything. Shadows on the scanners could be large birds or even a reflection of their own signal bouncing off the atmosphere or the clouds.

"Let me know if you see it again," Scott replied as he returned to his normal search pattern: left, right, straight, up, and around again while taking glances at his own instruments to make sure the plane was flying correctly. The shadow never showed up again, and the two planes made their way back into their own territory.

"Good job, we'll do it again on the second round, so don't relax too much yet." There was relief to Captain Barns' voice, and Scott and Paul couldn't help but agree with it.

"Roger."

They flew in silence for a while, keeping their eyes open, but something was apparently bothering Paul. A few times, within the next several minutes or so, Scott could have sworn he heard him mutter about something only to deny it when he asked. Finally, when they were nearing their home base, Paul spoke up.

"Hey, Toto."

"Yeah?"

"Do the captains seem a little quiet to you today?"

"Yeah, but this isn't the usual mission, you know."

"Well, sure, I'd expect the quietness when we're behind enemy lines, but we're almost back to Shindand and they haven't made one crack about either of us." Scott could see Paul's reflection in the canopy and the shrug of his shoulders. "I mean, last time we flew with them, they spent the entire two hours ragging me about my injury."

"Well, it was just three inches from your glutes."

"For the last time, I did not get shot in the ass." Scott laughed as they continued their flight.

They made their way around their course without anything major happening until they were back at the adjustment point, and Captain Barns relayed the same instruction as earlier.

"Toto, another shadow, this time at eleven o'clock." They had been flying in enemy territory for five minutes when Paul's voice came over the comm.

Scott looked up but this time saw the shadow. "Old McDonald, the shadow at eleven o'clock is not quite a shadow."

There was a pause and then a reply. "Affirmative, enemy plane spotted. Repeat, do not engage."

"Roger, Old McDonald."

"Toto, I'm getting three more shadows on the scanner." Scott could feel Paul pull on the back of his seat in order to get a good look out the window, trying to make visual contact.

"Roger, Bugs." Scott readjusted himself as well; this time, something was going to happen. "Old McDonald, you reading three more shadows?"

"Affirmative. And Bull said there's five more on top of that."

"Six, eleven total." Bugs was calling out their locations behind Scott.

"Bugs calls six more. Total of eleven bogies around us."

"Affirmative, Bull is reading the same. Keep on course."

"Roger." He could see the planes now, no longer shadows on the radar. They were circling them like vultures waiting for their prey to die. They kept on course, not altering, not showing any hostility. Their ten minutes were up, and Scott followed as the captain adjusted his course, heading back into their own territory. They were a mile out when one of the enemy planes broke formation and cut Scott off, forcing him to take evasive maneuvers.

"Make for friendly skies." Captain Barns' voice was frantic over the radio. Scott took note of his heading and turned to the west but another plane cut him off.

"They're not letting me." Scott swore as the planes started to corral them farther to the east.

"Same here." Scott could see his plane take a nosedive to try and lose two bogies on his tail. "Just keep trying."

"Roger." Scott tried another evasive procedure, pulling his plane high and doing a barrel roll over the enemy plane next to him. He was forced to climb at the end of the maneuver as another enemy plane made to block his escape. He was forced back behind the captain and maintained their course, heading farther east, deeper into enemy territory. Scott had thought they were being herded somewhere but soon found that they were just being kept from help. A minute later came the ra-ta-tat of gunfire. Scott and Captain Barns dove to avoid it, but they were clearly outnumbered.

"Permission to engage, sir." Scott had his hand over the switch to activate his targeting software, waiting for the command.

"Denied." Captain Barns' voice was icy, and Scott knew that something was up.

Scott frowned and continued to try to outmaneuver the planes, but with six of them around him, there were not many places he could go. It was not too surprising when he saw Captain Barns' plane go down, two parachutes drifting lazily toward the arid earth below.

"Mayday! Mayday!" Scott opened all channels in hope that someone would hear him. "Plane down, I repeat, plane down. Mayday! Mayday!"

They both knew it was coming—there was really nowhere to go. There was the banging as bullets pierced the fuselage of the plane and then the hunk of metal would no longer obey Scott's commands.

"Scott!" Paul's hands were already firmly grasping his ejection pull between his legs.

"Do it!" The canopy exploded from the plane, and he could see Paul shoot out. A moment later, Scott had joined him. Once he had his bearings again, he looked around. The planes that had been on them like flies seemed to have all disappeared. Scott looked around again and found Paul floating below him, Captains Barns and Heinz a mile north, almost on the ground. Scott landed with a thud and a shudder throughout his entire body. He loved to fly, but he was not a fan of parachuting.

He struggled to get out of his excess gear, making sure his gun was still firmly attached to his hip, and then he went in search of his allies.


	2. Burning Sands

Chapter 2: Burning Sands

Scott leaned over to the table next to the podium and snatched a bottle of water that sat upon it. It was a squat little bottle that was warm to the touch. He twisted off the cap with a small pop that seemed to echo through the silent room and took a few cautious sips before gulping the rest of the bottle to try and sooth is dry throat. Colonel Casey had retaken her seat on the bench behind him, and he could hear the wood creak as she adjusted the way she sat. The men and women before him were leaning forward in rapt attention to the story he was telling.

"So, both planes were shot down, but you were able to eject?" General Diaz reclined a bit in her chair, her arms crossed in front of her. Next to her, General Sal scratched the stubble on his cheek as he continued to bore his eyes into Scott.

General Belousov looked as if he were growling and seemed to bark at his next words. "You said the planes disappeared after you ejected, why would they do that?"

"I said they had seemed to disappear." Scott took a deep breath and looked up to the majors before him. "They were still there, I could hear them. Bullets were flying through the air as we descended with our parachutes."

"And you did not get hit?" A little bit of shock showed on General Andreasson's face as she read down through the report again.

"I did but nothing life threatening."

"Why don't we quiet down and let the young man finish his story?" Major Huston smiled and Scott wished he hadn't called him a _young_ man.

Scott took another deep breath, and at Belousov's nod, he continued. "Like I said, I hated parachuting."

* * *

Scott had collapsed on the ground after he had touched down and took a moment to collect himself. His whole body ached from the fall, but his arm was searing in pain. He reached up and felt a warm wetness on his arm. Looking down at his hand, he saw it was red with blood. Cursing to himself, he stretched his neck over to see the damage. Just a graze, it seemed, nothing serious, but he would need to take care of it properly before too long. Right now, it was too dangerous to stay in one spot for long. Their parachutes were florescent targets on the beige background of the land around them.

Scott took a quick inventory of his surroundings, Paul had landed not far away, but he couldn't see him offhand. There was a ridge just to the east, so Scott scrambled up it and looked around.

Paul was just on the other side, his parachute spread out behind him. He was lying crumpled on the ground, not moving. Scott caught his breath as he slid down the rocky ground and ran over to his best friend. He knew before he had even reached him. He was not moving, and he was in a very awkward position.

Paul Rand had not survived.

Scott slid down next to him and pulled him over into a more natural position. One leg was broken and laid at a ninety degree angle, the bone shockingly white and bloody stuck out of his thigh. It had probably happened because he was already gone by the time he had hit the ground and had not been able to support himself properly on impact. What had killed him were the large bullet holes through his chest. Blood had pooled below him, soaking into the dirt, turning it a dark burgundy.

Scott tore open Paul's flight suit and pulled out his dog tags and a picture he always kept in his pocket. The picture was of his family, his wife and kids, all girls. His call name was Bugs — like Bugs Bunny —because he bred like a rabbit. He was only twenty-six years old, had only been married for four years, and had five kids. The picture was bloody along one edge, obscuring the eldest of his daughters a little, but he knew they would want the picture back. He tucked it inside his own flight suit with his dog tags and then pilfered his rations and canteen.

Scott wanted to cry, he needed to cry, but there was no time to let that emotion overtake him. He needed to get out of there. The captains were a klick to the north, best go see if they survived as well. He scrambled back up the ridge and walked along the top of it for a bit just to get a lay of the land. There were random bits of olive green spotted here and there, nothing he could use to hide in. He slid down the ridge again and started to the north.

The trek was difficult, and Scott found his nerves were on edge. Every sound he heard, he jumped. Even the wind caused him to turn and pull his gun at the emptiness that was behind him. It took him a half hour to hike to where he thought the captains had landed and found one of their parachutes draped over another rocky outcropping. He made his way around and found another body. He thought the worst at first, but then it shuddered.

"Captain," Scott called, unsure which one it was as he ran over.

"Tracy." It was Captain Barns. He was pale, shaking, and tears were running down his face. "You're alright? What about Rand?"

"No." Scott shook his head. "Where's Captain Heinz?"

"He's gone." Captain Barns jerked his head to where the body hung limply form the ropes of his parachute, which had gotten caught on rocks farther up a high cliff face.

Scott tightened his jaw and avoided looking. There was no way he would be able to cut him down, he was just too high. Instead he looked his captain over. There was no blood and no obvious injuries.

"Can you stand?"

"No." Captain Barns shook his head and reached down toward his left leg. "I think it's broken."

"That's manageable." Scott scooted down and prodded the leg a little. Barns hissed in pain, but the leg was still straight. He looked around for anything that he could use as a splint, but there was nothing but rocks. "Alright, we'll get you on your feet, and we'll get out of here. If we head south-west, we should eventually get back to friendly territory."

"No, just leave me." Barns frowned and pushed Scott away from him.

"I leave you here and they'll eventually find you or you die of exposure."

"And if I go with you, we may both be captured or die of exposure. You can make it back, you're fine. Just leave me here."

"No." Scott narrowed his eyes.

"It's an order, lieutenant."

"One I choose not to follow." Scott smiled a little as he grabbed Barns' hand and pulled it over his shoulders.

"Tracy, this is—"

"I don't care what you think of me, but I will not leave you behind if I think we can both get out of here. We're only about ten miles behind enemy lines. Even lugging your heavy ass, it should only take us a few days to make it to safety."

"And what about enemy patrols? It's not like we have a lot of places to hide around here."

"We'll deal with that when it happens. Either way, I'm not leaving you."

"You're damn stubborn, you know that?"

"Yeah, my dad used to say that." Scott smiled as he hulled the captain up onto his good foot. "As soon as we're in a safer place, we can look for some splints for your leg, and I can clean out the wound on my arm."

Barns gave Scott a worried look, but Scott didn't notice. He helped him out of his gear and then shouldered the captain's arm again, taking the long route to the south-west to avoid passing by Captain Heinz's body.

It was slow going for the two. They stuck close to the rocks, making their way from one to another to stay out of the open ground. Scott would climb up anywhere he could so he could get a better vantage point to make sure they knew where they were going and if there was anyone nearby. They eventually made their way to a small semi-shaded area that was filled with light green straggly bushes.

"Alright, let's get you down." Scott huffed as he lowered the captain onto a faint yellowish-green patch of dried grass-like plants. The captain groaned a little and was looking a bit paler as well. "You doing okay?"

"Yeah, just hurts, is all," he replied through clenched teeth.

Scott unzipped his flight suit and pulled off the t-shirt he had on underneath. He threw it into the small stream that ran alongside them and got it good and wet before throwing it over to the captain.

"Put that on the back of your neck, should help you cool down a little."

"Thanks. What about you?"

"Once you feel a bit better, take your own shirt off. We'll use them for bandages," Scott avoided answering the question as he inspected his wound a little. The captain didn't hesitate but sat up and unzipped his own flight suit and pulled off his sweaty shirt, throwing it at Scott. "Ew, that stinks."

"And you think yours smells like roses?"

They both laughed a little as Scott dipped the shirt into the stream. He had kept his flight suit down so that he could get to the cut on his arm. It wasn't too bad, the blood had clotted itself, but he did need to clean it out as much as he could. He used the shirt to scrub the dried blood off his arm and new brighter blood started to ooze through. Once he was sure he had cleaned it as best as he could he tore off a dry strip from the shirt and tied it around his arm. Then he cast his eyes around for something that he could use to splint the captain's leg. There were some sticks lying around, but they weren't particularly straight nor strong. There wasn't much choice though, so he collected the straightest ones he could find and went to work tearing the shirts up and tying them as tight as he could to the captain's leg.

"Alright, we need to get to some better cover."

"Sure we can't just stay here?"

"Yeah, I'd feel better if we were in a cave or under an outcropping with our backs to solid rock."

The captain nodded understanding his caution and reached out to grab Scott's hand. Scott hauled him up again pulling his arm around his shoulders and they once again made their way across the barren land.

In total, they probably only walked a couple of miles from where they had landed. However, they were now in a well-hidden cave facing west. Scott had found it only by chance as they were making their way around a large rock feature. They still had a few hours of sunlight, but the captain was getting weaker and needed to rest. Scott had him leaned up against the back of the cave in the shadows. Scott himself was sitting in the entrance with a good view of the flat land before him. Land that they would have to try and cross later that night.

Scott dug into the bag strapped to his hip and pulled out a ration bar. He broke it in fourths and nibbled on the small portion, taking sips from his canteen as he did. Two miles a day, that would make it five days to get to friendly territory. Assuming they didn't run into any enemy patrols. He pulled out all the ration bars he had, doing a little calculation. Five days, two to three meals a day, fifteen meals. He only had four bars, and the captain would only have two. So, two meals. Even then, it was cutting it slim. The biggest concern would be water. They had been lucky to find that first stream—they may not find another. Scott had taken Paul's canteen so he had two and the captain had one. One canteen held enough water for one person for one day. That could be stretched out, but even on a third of a canteen per day, these three could only be stretched to four days. Still doable, again, as long as they don't get into trouble.

Scott tucked the ration bars back into his bag and turned to look at the captain. He had already fallen asleep. Had he been stupid to drag him along? Was he just increasing the chances that neither of them would ever return home? Scott shook his head. No, he would do it again. He was not that kind of man.

Scott eventually retreated to the back of the cave and got some sleep as well. There was no point keeping watch—if someone showed up, there was little he could do to stop them from capturing them. Sure, he could shoot them, but he doubted they would be by themselves or even with one other. Yes, his cartridge was full, and he was a good shot, but even then, they probably had assault weapons, and he just had his hand gun. Twenty-five rounds against an endless supply, this wasn't a video game, that was for sure. It wouldn't do Captain Barns any good either if Scott was killed and then taken captive. Putting those thoughts out of his mind, he settled down and quickly dozed off.

When he woke, it was to the sound of voices and feet scrambling along the loose rocky ground outside of their hiding spot. Scott looked over at Captain Barns who was also awake. They pulled themselves father into their shadows and held their breath. The voices got close, almost just outside of the entrance, but then faded away. A vehicle started up somewhere and drove off. Scott quietly crept to the entrance and peered out. It was full night out, the moon was full and cast a grey glow on the landscape before him. He closed he eyes and strained his ears but could not hear a thing. He pulled his gun from his side and crept slowly out of the cave. He looked around quickly, left, right, up behind him, and down across the emptiness before him, but there didn't seem to be anyone around. Emerging fully, he took a quick trip up and down the rockface, keeping an eye out above him, as well as all directions around him, but there didn't seem to be anyone around.

"We best be going." Captain Barns had pulled himself to his feet by the time Scott returned.

"Oh? I thought for sure you'd try to convince me to go without you." Scott smiled.

"Would you have?"

"No."

"Figured." Scott took his arm and carefully made his way out the cave. They skirted along the rockface for a while until they had no choice but to go out across the open land. It was a couple of miles, and they only had half the night to do it. They both knew they would have to speed things up, so they started hobbling along, taking breaks only when they absolutely had to. They were moving at a snails pace, and it took them almost six hours to cross the two miles of openness. The sun was rising and had just peeked out over the edge of the horizon when they found some shade in which to rest.

"I know we haven't gone far today," Captain Barns started as he lowered himself to the ground. "Not sure how much father I can go."

"No problem, we made quite a bit of progress today anyways."

"You call that progress? It was barely two miles."

"On a broken leg, that's progress." Scott looked around a little. "Here, take my gun. If I hear a gunshot, I'll come looking for you."

"If you hear a gunshot, start running."

"Here we go again disagreeing." Scott smirked as the captain cocked the gun. Scott took off around the rocks, looking for a place they could hide for the rest of the day. There was a large cliff face to their south, partially keeping them from heading the direction they really needed to go in. There were dark shadows here and there around the face, some looked as if they may be caves. He went up to the closest such spot and poked around. The entrance was partially hidden by the cliff itself and narrow, maybe two feet at most, but stretched up close to twelve feet up the sheer rock face. He turned to his side and squeezed into the gap. It got a little narrower as he went, but he had no real difficulty getting through. On the other side was a small cave, as tall as the opening and probably a good hundred square feet in space. Satisfied, he returned to Captain Barns, who was still sitting where he had left him.

"That didn't take you long."

"You know, I had this fear that I'd come back and find you'd killed yourself."

"You would have heard the gunshot."

"Probably."

"And as much as I want you to survive, I don't want to die either." Scott pulled him to his feet, and the two men met eyes. "Thank you for not leaving me behind."

Captain Barns pressed the gun back into Scott's hand, and Scott replaced it into his holster but didn't reply. He helped the captain to the cave he had found and got him settled on the floor.

"Eat something before you doze off." Scott pulled out his rations and broke off another small piece. "And go easy on the water, we need to make it last."

"Yes, sir." The captain mock saluted Scott and pulled out his own ration bar, breaking off a bit. "Do you honestly thing we'll get out of here?"

"I do."

"How can you be so certain?"

"I was taught that as long as you don't give up, you'll never fail. Simple as that."

"Simple. Sounds about right coming from such a successful man."

"Well, he didn't get there by giving up."

"The type of man who never gives up. I can see where you get it." The captain looked through the darkness at Scott. Very little light made its way into the cave, and they could really only see vague shadows of each other in the darkness.

"He almost gave up on us once." Scott shifted a bit in the darkness. "After our mom died."

"How old where you?"

"Eight. John was six, Virgil five, Gordon three, and Alan one."

"What happened?"

"He was okay at first, while he had things to do, funeral arrangements and stuff. After the burial, though, he just sort of shut down."

"Was there anyone to help with you boys?"

"Not at first, no. Our grandma was there during the funeral, but Dad had made her go home, said he'd be able to take care of things. The first week he tried, but soon he was locked in his office most of the day."

"What did you do?"

"I took care of my brothers. Had to learn how to take care of an infant and a toddler real quick. Thank God for the internet." Scott laughed a little. "John and Virgil were still too young to help much. I had to make meals and make sure they took baths and went to bed on time. We had a lot of sandwiches at first, even for breakfast."

"Didn't you ever try to get your dad to help?"

"Well, we did eventually run out of lunch meat. I tried to tell him that we needed food, but he would just say that he'd be out in a bit to cook something. Never did. So, I learned how to cook."

"What about school?"

"He took us out for the first month—after that I just didn't go. I couldn't leave my brothers alone. It took the school calling and asking my dad why John, Virgil, and I weren't there before he realized just how much he had withdrawn himself."

oOo

" _Scott Carpenter Tracy_." Jeff stormed out of his office, disheveled, his clothes wrinkled, and a rough beard growing on his chin. Scott had seen the caller ID on the phone when it had rang and had ushered his brothers off to their rooms so that he was alone in the living room.

"What?" Scott shot back at him, his arms crossed defensive against his agitated father.

"They said you, John, and Virgil have been ditching school!"

"What choithe did I have?" Scott frowned at his lisp from his missing front tooth—of all times to sound stupid. "Who wath going to watch the baby? Who wath going to make them food? Who wath going to change Alan's diaper? You sthure weren' doing it!"

Jeff was taken up short by this defensive young boy before him. His hair was a mess, his clothes dirty, there was a spot on his shoulder where it looked like Alan had drooled on him and grease splatter dotted the front of his shirt. Jeff suddenly looked around the room; there were toys everywhere, cereal littered the floor just outside the playpen, two plates of what looked like hamburger mixed with some onion and peppers lay on the coffee table with two glasses of water with straws in them.

"Where did this food come from?"

"I made it." Scott smiled a little proud of himself. "We ran out of lunch mea' and bread a couple weekths ago—aths well aths anything to drink. Tha' the lathst of the hamburger. Luckily Mom liked to sthtock up on sthtuff."

Jeff rubbed his hands over his face in defeat. He didn't say anything else, but turned and picked up the phone calling his mother.

oOo

"Grandma showed up the next day." Scott sighed as he relived the memory.

"Sorry, I shouldn't be prying like this."

"Nah, it's okay. Grandma helped Dad get back into things. He quit NASA and started his company, and well, you can find out the rest easy enough."

"Makes my life seem so mundane." The captain laughed a little, but then apologized. "I didn't mean…"

"Nah, it's okay. Though I don't know much about you."

"Not much to tell in comparison. Parents are still alive. Was a bit of a troublemaker in elementary school. I liked to draw dirty pictures on the blackboards. It was because of me that they weren't allowed to leave the rooms empty at recess or lunch." Scott laughed at that, reminded of a similar event caused by Gordon. "Bit of an animal lover as well. When I was in fifth grade, some of the younger kids found a nest of baby rabbits in the playground. I had to stop them from picking them up and playing with them." Captain Barns smiled at the memory, but Scott could hear a falter in his voice as he continued. "That's when I meat George."

"Geor… oh, Captain Heinz."

"Yeah, he helped me protect the rabbits. We checked on them everyday but never saw the mother. So, we went to the principle and asked if we could keep them and feed them and stuff. She agreed, but it was up to us. So we went around found someone to help us build some cages for them, got a local farm store to donate some food for them, and got some of the other kids in our classes to help. Became a bit of a class project. Collected a few other injured animals as well. I think the fifth grade class is still taking care of some. We went back and helped all the way through high school."

"Is that how you got your call sign, Old McDonald?"

"Yeah, George told our first squadron the story, and well, you know how it goes."

"Yeah." Scott smiled. "How come you didn't become a vet?"

"Thought about it for a bit. Had even started going to collage for it but then I started learning how to fly, and the bug bit me hard. Joined ROTC so I could get more flight time in, and well, here I am."

"How did Captain Heinz end up flying?"

"The jerk. I told him I had joined ROTC to fly, and he went and joined too. We were at different schools and he didn't even tell me. I didn't know until we ended up stationed at the same base."

"That was lucky."

"Not as much as you would think. His grandfather is a retired general. Pulled some strings."

Scott laughed again. They quieted down a bit after that, both thinking of their pasts. The cave was cool compared to the heat baring down on anyone bothered with going outside. Scott looked over and could tell that Captain Barns had dozed off. He wasn't quite tired yet, so he peeked out of the cave but saw no one nearby.

He stood there, in the middle of the small space, and closed his eyes, listening. It was quiet—not even the buzz of insects or the call of birds from outside could penetrate the security they had found. Then he heard it; a soft roar, not from outside, but it was vibrating through the rock. He opened his eyes and reached out for the wall, feeling along the perimeter, and found an opening. It was narrow, but he was able to slide through easy enough. It opened up into a slightly wider space, and as he walked down the corridor, the roar got louder. The passageway led downward deep into the earth. He had been walking for about five minutes when the walls around him were suddenly wet with water running down them. The floor beneath him was slippery, but he was able to navigate it carefully. He continued on and finally came to another narrow opening. He slid through it and came out on the back side of a waterfall.

Over the roar of the falling water, he could hear shouting so he squatted down and used his hand to peek through the water at what was on the other side. He was on the edge of an underground lake in a large cavern. There were soldiers there, and not GDF, US, or any of the other countries they were working with. They were stacking crates off against one wall, crates that were marked with large red crosses. They finished stacking the few crates they had and got back into their jeep, driving away out of the cave. Scott looked around carefully, but there didn't seem to be any other soldiers around. There was a small structure on the other side of the cavern, hastily built, it had no roof, only four walls and a door. There were other crates piled up around the area, so Scott could only assume it was more of a place for supplies. They were probably guarding the entrance but didn't think there was another way in. At least he hoped that they didn't know of the alternative entrance.

When the sound of the motor had died, Scott edged out from behind the waterfall and along the wall toward the boxes they had apparently stolen from the Red Cross. It annoyed Scott that they had taken the supplies away from their own people, who probably needed it, but there really wasn't much he could do about it. He was able to pull off the lid to the first crate he came to without much noise and found bandages and medicine inside. He stashed as much as he could in his pockets and replaced the lid before going on to the next crate. Most of them held the same as the first, but there were a couple of crates filled with rations of various kinds. He exchanged some of the bandages for rations until every one of his pockets was full. For once, he was thankful that his flight suit had so many pockets in it.

He had just replaced the lid on the last crate he was stealing from when he heard the bang. He dropped down behind one of the boxes, his heart trying its best to jump from his chest. It wasn't a gun, though, but the sound of a backfired engine. He squatted down low to avoid being seen and judged the distance to the waterfall, wondering if he could make it in time. The answer was a no as the jeep stalled just as it made it into the cavern. Scott peered out from behind the boxes and saw that this vehicle wasn't loaded down with crates, but instead held two soldiers with assault rifles and to other people with sacks over their heads.

One soldier got out and kicked the jeep in annoyance, yelling something Scott was sure was profanity in his own language before jabbing one of the hooded men in the side with his rifle. Slowly the captive stood up and carefully made his way down out of the jeep. The second man followed but seemed a bit more unsteady than the first. Once they were on solid ground, the first man with the rifle jabbed them both in the backs and yelled at them to move. When Scott had first learned he was being sent to Afghanistan, he started to study Urdu, only to find upon arrival that very few of the populous spoke the national language. Most people spoke the local language and their various dialects. This man was speaking one of those. Scott had picked up words here and there but not enough to know exactly what he was saying.

He forced his captives into the room on the far side of the cavern, closing the door before returning to the jeep. The other soldier had gotten out by this point, his rifle leaning up next to the drivers seat, and was fiddling with something under the hood. The two soldiers stood there and talked for a bit before the driver slammed the hood and climbed back in to try and start the engine. After the jeeped turned over twice, it roared to life. The other soldier jumped back in and slapped his companion on the shoulder as the jeep was turned around and left the cave.

Slowly and quietly, Scott made his way around the edge of the lake, ducking behind crates just in case someone was there that he hadn't seen, and made his way to the makeshift room on the other side. There still did not seem to be anyone around, so he made his way to the door and turned the handle. It was not locked, not that locking it would do any good. If the occupants really wanted to leave, they only had to climb the walls. Scott slipped in and closed the door again, then turned to face the two figures in the room.

One was still standing; the other had sat down against the far wall. The bags still hung on their heads, and Scott could see that their hands were bound behind their backs.

"Do you know English?" Scott was unsure if these people were allies or not.

"That is an American accent." The man standing had an urgency to his low voice that made Scott hurry to follow his directions. "Get this blasted bag off my head and let me see you."

Scott recognized the southern accent and reached up pulling the bag off his head and then around to his back with his knife drawn to undo his hands.

"Who are you? Where did you come from?" the standing man pulled his hands free. Scott moved over to the second one, pulling the bag off and pushing him forward to free his hands as well.

"I should be asking you that," Scott stood and took in the man's appearance. He was a tall, burley man, with dark blond hair that was growing out of the normal military style. He had a full beard and dark blue eyes that bored into him.

"James Huey. Captain. GDF Marine Corp. Would you like my numbers too?" He walked over to his buddy and squatted down next to him "This is Rayford Riley. Lieutenant. We were captured together."

Lieutenant Riley was just as burley as Captain Huey, though a bit leaner in structure. He was much darker than the captain, black hair and dark shadowed eyes. He didn't seem to be all with it and was slow to respond to anything his captain said. "I take it you weren't sent to rescue us. You're not special forces are you? SEAL?"

"No." Scott couldn't help but laugh a little at the suggestion. "Scott Tracy, Lieutenant. US Air Force."

"Air Force?" The captain's head popped up at that, and he gave Scott a steady look. "What the hell are you doing here, then?"

"Shot down. Trying to make my way back to friendly territory."

"You know the way?"

"I think I do. We're still almost ten miles behind the lines—farther than what I first thought, it'll take several days."

"Riley can't go to fast." the captain looked back down at his lieutenant a worried look on is face.

"My captain is with me as well, and he has a broken leg, so, yeah, we won't be making any land speed records getting out of here."

"Your willing to risk getting caught just to help us?"

"Why not?" Scott shrugged. Maybe he was a sucker for rescues.

"Right, then." Captain Huey pulled Riley to his feet and nodded. "Lead the way."


	3. Troubled Sands

Chapter 3: Troubled Sands

They sat in the canteen with two mugs of coffee between them. Colonel Casey sipped at her milky brown concoction while Scott just stared at his black blend.

"You really don't have to do this. They can't make you." She watched him closely, trying to see what was going through his mind. They had been given a break—lunch, they called it—but Scott hadn't been very hungry. "The relationship the GDF has with Inter… IR is unique. There are no procedures, no protocols, no precedence. They're just trying to cover their own asses."

"I know." Scott finally took a sip of his drink; his mouth twitched at the extra bitterness of the now cool liquid. "But how else can I prove to them that I'm capable of leading IR like Dad was?"

"We could get your brothers in on it. They could tell them what it has been like with you as their field commander."

"I don't want to get them involved. Plus, would they even listen? They are family and all."

"Then we could look up some of the people you've rescued over the past year. See if they would be willing to speak on your behalf."

"Only to make them go through what they are making me go through?" Scott looked up at the woman before him. She sighed and shook her head, knowing he would never relent to something like that. "The problem is, I'm not my father."

"You're just as good as your father."

"Just as good isn't good enough."

"Your father had years of experience in both the Air Force and NASA before he started IR."

"And I'm only twenty-seven and was only a lieutenant."

"You were discharged as a captain."

"I flew three days as a captain and even that is questionable." Scott set his cup down a little harder than he had intended, and coffee splashed out onto his hand. He swore a little and grabbed a napkin from the dispenser at the center of the table to clean it up.

Colonel Casey blinked at him in shock. She had read the report of the incident once it had been released. From that report, she knew the promotion had come while he was still in Afghanistan, knew they had got him back in the air as soon as they could, and knew that he had been sent back to the States soon after. She did not, however, know just how Scott had dealt with it all. She was now starting to get the idea that it had proven more complicated than his father had let on.

"Either way, I just don't have the experience that my father did. They're hesitant to trust me, and I don't blame them."

"If you go back in there with that attitude, you might as well just go home and forget about the GDF." Colonel Casey was starting to worry about the young man. He was suddenly the head of his family, the head of a very important organization, and he needed to make sure the GDF continued to support that organization and what they were trying to do. She wasn't sure what the added stress of reliving his past was going to do to him.

"No, I mean, you're right." Scott took a deep breath and gulped down the rest of his cold coffee. "I've still got several days to tell them about." He set the coffee mug on the table and rose.

* * *

Scott squeezed out of the crevice, back into the cave where he had left Captain Barns.

The captain perked up at Scott's appearance. "Thank God. I thought something might have happened."

"Something did." Scott reached back into the crevice like he was looking for something.

"What?"

"I found some company." Scott found what he was searching for and helped a strange man to get through the tight space. Once he was through, another followed.

Captain Barns pulled himself up onto his good foot—a little uneasy about the new company.

"This is Captain Huey and Lieutenant Riley. GDF marines, captured about six months ago."

"Captain Barns. I hope you don't mind." Captain Huey nodded at the injured pilot.

"No, no. I'm glad to see you both safe. Captain, lieutenant." Barns squinted in the dark at the new lieutenant and then turned to Captain Huey. "Is your lieutenant okay?"

"No, not really. They've been torturing us a bit. Riley more than me, and he hasn't been holding up as well."

"Damn, sorry." Captain Barns shook his head.

"My condolences to you as well. Tracy says you've lost two men."

"Yeah." Barns rubbed his face hard with his hands.

"We really need to get out of here." Scott had walked over to Captain Barns and started loading up his pockets with supplies. "I'd like to get as much distance between us and this base by the time they realize they're missing."

"I couldn't agree more myself." Captain Huey turned and made his way to the entrance. "I'll make sure it's all clear, and then you two take the lead, since Tracy is the one that knows which way to go. We'll wait a minute and follow after."

"Agreed." Scott nodded.

Captain Huey came back and reported that the coast was clear, and Scott made his way out—supporting Captain Barns—heading down the edge of the cliff straight west.

They traveled for the next several hours, keeping to shadows when they could, making sure that they weren't being followed or easily seen. They rested quietly in the middle of the day and then—after a few more hours of walking—were able to find a safe cavity in some rock where they could stay for the night. It was hard to tell how far they had traveled—they had to wind around rocks and stay away from open land so the path was longer but safer. They were all tired by the time they had agreed to settle down for the night. Scott thought about their supplies as they silently nibbled on their ration bars and sipped at their water. He had made sure to refill his two canteens while he had had the chance, but three canteens between four people would stretch their water reserves severely. They did, however, have plenty of food to last them. They each had packed their pockets full of the dry, crunchy ration bars, so that was at least one thing they didn't have to worry about.

"So, what happened to you guys?" Scott looked up at the marines as he tucked away the rest of his food for later. "How did you get captured, that is. If you don't mind me asking."

"We were part of an extraction mission. Joint operation between the Army and Navy of several countries and also the GDF." Captain Huey bit a large bite from his ration bar.

"I'm not sure you should be telling us this. It sounds like a top secret operation." Captain Barns was watching the marine hesitantly, his food hanging in the air near his mouth. "We may not have authority to know what you were up to."

"Captain. We are in the middle of enemy territory. The ****ing military doesn't give a shit what I tell you." Captain Huey glared at Captain Barns for a moment before turning back to Scott. "Anyways, we were supposed to go into this small village near here… I think it was near here. Hell, we've been shuttled around so much it could have been on the other side of the stupid country for all I know. Anyways, they thought one of the high-level military leader was in the village, and we were to sneak in and try and capture the village and him if possible. Someone squealed on us, though, they were ready. Everything went to crap. The lieutenant and I were captured before we even got into the village proper. No clue what happened to the rest of the unit."

"What was the name of the village?" Scott was keeping an eye on Captain Barns off to the side. He seemed really antsy all of a sudden.

"I really don't think that is necessary information." Captain Barns still hadn't eaten his food, but had brought it down and stashed it in his pocket.

Captain Huey just ignored him. "Sur Lugh."

"Sur Lugh." Scott let the word linger in his mouth as he slowly turned to look at Captain Barns.

"What?"

"That was the village we were hoping to get under our control so that they could get supplies to the people. Or was that not the mission?" Scott was eyeing his captain. There had been many things to cause him to wonder about what he had been told, but he had trusted the captain—there had been no reason not to.

"No." Captain Barns winced as he tried to move his leg. "But I knew you would not have agreed to come with me otherwise."

"I would have come because it was an order."

"You would have argued."

"Probably, but I still would have come." Scott sighed and rubbed his hand over his face. "What was the real mission?"

"Surveillance." Captain Barns sighed. "We were to try and get aerial photos of the town. It was an attempt to find the high-ranked officer—and the base he commanded—that our friends were after."

"Not to find any of the soldiers that had been captured, though. Had they already given up on them?" Scott threw his hand out toward their new companions. "And what about the non-engagement order?"

"The missiles were all fakes. Instead, they had new, prototype equipment. It had the ability to scan underground. The gear for this surveillance equipment was inside of them. All our ammunition was taken out so as not to harm the equipment in the missiles. We were to use the enemy planes to maneuver ourselves to certain areas so that we could get scans."

"Why couldn't they use drones or satellites?"

"For one, it was too big for the drones. Second, Captain Heinz had to manage some of the controls manually."

"But it was okay to ditch the planes and let the enemy take them?"

"They had a self-destruct switch—manual—so that no one else could force them to be destroyed before we got the intel back to base."

"Alright, then, why me?" A growl escaped past his normal, calm voice. "There were plenty of pilots that would have loved to take on a stupid mission like this."

"Because Bull and I went into it knowing we probably would not return. I wanted you because you are the best pilot in the squadron, and I thought, if anyone, you would be able to escape." Barns sighed and readjusted his position. "I guess I miscalculated."

"Damn you!" Scott stood and slammed his fist into the wall behind him. "Damn you, damn them, and damn the damn military!" He stood for a moment, wanting to pace, but there was just no room in the small, cramped area so he left. He just walked away.

Scott didn't pay attention to which direction he went, he just needed to walk. He kept to the darker shadows of the evening, and he made sure the alcove was still within sight. He was mad but he wasn't going to just leave him—though he was really tempted to at the moment. It wasn't the fact that the mission wasn't what he had thought it was. If he had been ordered to do it, he would have done it—even if he didn't agree with it. No, what was gnawing at him was the fact that the risk of being shot down was so great.

Normally, if the risk of mission failure was sixty percent or more, they would make sure his living will was up to date, and he would have the opportunity to talk to family before leaving. He had not had the opportunity to do either. His will was in order—his father had made sure of that when he had first enlisted. However, he had just cut short a call to his brother when the captain had selected him for the mission. Not just any brother, but Alan, the youngest. If Scott did not make it—which, right now, there was still a high chance of that—Alan would have been the last to speak to him. That was a tough place to be. People would ask him questions he wouldn't be able to answer. He would be mad at Scott but hate himself for it as well. Scott knew how it felt himself. He had been the last to talk to their mother before she had died.

oOo

Scott was sitting in the living room, keeping an eye on his two youngest brothers. Alan was a year old and was crawling all over floor and getting into everything. He wasn't near as bad as Gordon, though—three years old and the terror of the house. Gordon was currently in the playpen throwing cereal at Scott and Alan, jumping up and down, and yelling. Scott was busy looking at something in a small bottle, shaking it occasionally and looking at it at all angels. He sucked at his gums a little, the now empty spot where the tooth had once been still a little sore.

Alan had made his way into the kitchen, and Scott noticed his absence so he stood and ran over to him. He found him standing next to the stove, trying to reach the container of cookies on the edge of the counter.

"Alan, I sthaid you can't go in there." Scott's speech now had a lisp to it, which he wasn't sure if he liked or not. The phone rang, and Scott carried Alan to the playpen, putting him in next to his brother. He pulled the stool out from under the small table beneath the phone and stood up on it in order to reach it. It was an unknown number so he tried his best to say what he was supposed to. "Tracthy residence. May I asthk who's calling?"

"Hi, Scott, it's Mom."

"Mom! How did you know it wasth me?"

"I know all my sons' voices. Plus John and Virgil are still too short to reach the phone."

"Oh yeah." Scott laughed as he sat down on the stool he had used to reach the receiver. "Guessth what!"

"What?"

"I lotht my front tooth!"

"Really? Which one?"

"Umm… my left."

"You've been working on that one, haven't you? Did it bleed much?"

"No, but it feelsth weird."

"That it does. Makes it hard to talk, doesn't it?"

"Yeah, I don't think I like it much."

"Don't worry, in no time, your big boy tooth will come in. How are things there? Is your father around?"

"Nah, outside doing sthomething, do you want me to go get him?"

"No, that's alright. How's he been doing with me gone?"

"Horrible. I don't like how he cookths. Everything is sthpicthy."

"Yes, he does like his spices." Her voice was light as she laughed. "Remind him that there is plenty of meat in the freezer. I think I have enough saved up for a couple of months."

"Will do. When are you coming home?"

"I have one more meeting and then I'll be home, so in just a couple more days. Think you can survive that much longer?"

"I'll try. Gordon keepsth throwing cthereal at me."

"Then take the cereal away."

"But then he cries and sthays he's hungry. I think that is more annoying."

"Well, you have to pick your battles, Scott."

"I know."

"I need to get going. Tell everyone that I love them, give your brothers kisses for me."

"Do I have to?"

"Yes. You better, I'll ask John when I get back if you did or not."

"Fine."

"Love you, Scott, take care."

"Love you too, Mom." Scott stepped back up on the stool and hung the phone up. He then ran over and quickly gave Gordon and Alan kisses on their foreheads. "That's from Mom."

"Scott?" Jeff had just walked in and saw the unusual act of affection.

"Dad, Mom justht called. She'll be home in a couple of dayths."

"That's good to hear. I was just coming in to fix dinner. How about some of my super spicy curry?"

Scott frowned. "Does it have to be sthuper sthpicy?"

"Ha, I'll try and tone it down for you." Jeff laughed. "Go out and get your brothers. They're playing in the barn. They'll want to know about Mom."

"Yeah, they're such mama's boyths."

"Not like you, I'm sure." Jeff narrowed his eyes and watched Scott. "Or was that you I heard crying in his bed calling for his mommy last night?"

"I wasthn't crying." Scott pouted.

"Oh, so you were just calling for your mommy?"

"I wasthn't!" Scott stomped his foot and ran out the door to collect his brothers, his father laughing behind him.

oOo

The first few days afterward, his father kept taking him off to the side and asking him to repeat their conversation. It was even worse at the funeral. Everyone had wanted to know exactly what they had said, how she had sounded, and answers to questions an eight-year-old didn't understand. Some people told him he had been lucky, while others sympathized with him. After the first couple of hours, while his grandma was corralling his brothers, he had snuck off and hid—wouldn't even come out for the funeral itself.

Scott kicked at a rock on the ground, and it went flying down the small hill he stood on top of. They would do the same to Alan—probably already doing it if they had received notice of his disappearance. He tried to imagine how Alan was coping. Was he yelling back or had he gone off to hide? Alan was always so hyper and happy, it was hard to imagine him as anything but.

Scott made his way farther up the hill and then suddenly dropped down onto his stomach.

There was an army on the other side. Scott looked back to where the alcove was and realized that if they had kept going, they would have run right into them. It was almost full dark, and the soldiers were settling down for the night. They would have sentries out, so it would not be safe for them to move. He did take the risk to try and figure out which way they were going. The trucks had been parked in a large circle, but he could still see the way in which they had come. They had to leave before the army did in the morning; if they timed it right, they would easily sneak around them.

Scott scooted down the hill and made a beeline back to the alcove. He hesitated for a moment but then ducked inside and dropped down next to Captain Barns.

"Tracy—"

Scott held his hand up. "What is done is done. I'll rip you a new one once we're safe."

"What's up, Toto?" Captain Huey smiled as he used Scott's call sign.

"I see you've been talking about me."

"Just getting to know the guy that's going to save our skin."

"Right." Scott frowned. "There is a small army not far from here—maybe half a mile."

"Shit."

"Are we in trouble?"

"We're safe for the moment, but we'll have to move before dawn." Scott readjusted himself and pulled out his ration bar, taking a good bite of it. "They'll be heading in this direction, but if we leave before they wake up, we'll be good."

"Is it going to affect our route any?" Barns handed over his canteen to Scott, who took a sip and handed it back.

"A little. We'll have to head north a bit more." Scott watched as concern flittered across Captain Huey's face. "Is there a problem?"

"Are you sure we're heading in the right direction?" Captain Huey had tried to hide the emotion and frowned when it was obvious that Scott had picked it up.

"I may not have an eidetic memory, but I have been studying the maps of this region for the past year—as well as flying over the same stretch of land day after day. I originally thought we had crashed west of Kotak, but now I think it was actually north of there, so probably close to fifteen miles. We started out heading southwest but then had to veer north up a valley—that's where we found you. We continued northwest today, and I was planning to head south again, but the army is right over the hill, so north it will be. As long as we keep heading in a westerly direction, we will hit the border eventually. It'll just take longer." Scott had drawn some lines in the dirt between them, but it had grown dark enough that no one could really see what it was. "Once we are fairly sure we've hit the border, we can start heading southwest again and hopefully get to the Chaman basin—if we don't run into a border patrol before then, which I hope we do."

"Assuming one of ours, of course."

"Of course." Scott chuckled and rubbed out his markings. "First, we all need to get some sleep. We'll have to move fast in the morning, but quietly."

"Fine. I'll take first watch." Captain Huey stood and then sat down nearer to the edge of the alcove. "According to your captain, you haven't slept in at least twenty-four hours."

Scott nodded. He was exhausted. He took Huey's space father in the back and settled himself against the rock, closing his eyes and hoped for pleasant dreams.

Scott dreamt of home, but it was the type of dream that made no sense upon waking. They were in the farmhouse in Kansas. A nineteen-year-old Gordon was drawing dirty pictures on a blackboard that was in the living room where the TV was supposed to be mounted. Captain Barns was trying to protect baby rabbits from someone in the corner of the room, but the rabbits were really baby Alan and toddler Gordon. Scott had even asked chalkboard Gordon to look at his baby self—he had been so cute. A twenty-two-year-old John came through the door and was asking Scott where his kiss from their mother was, he had never given it to him and he wanted it now. Virgil was in the kitchen practicing his new first aid skills on Lieutenant Riley while Captain Huey was trying to recruit Virgil into the GDF. Scott was trying to get away from John so that he could tell Virgil not to join the GDF because he would end up like Riley.

Captain Barns shook Scott awake just as he was giving John his kiss. He was disoriented in the darkness and could feel movement around him.

"What's going on?"

"We're getting out of here." Barns was already on his feet but leaning heavily on the wall behind him.

"The last shift change was three hours ago. They've been doing four-hour shifts. I figured it would be best if we caught the current shift near the end, but we'll have to move fast for that hour." Captain Huey was just outside of the alcove as he spoke, his lieutenant next to him. Scott stood up and nodded; he pulled his canteen out and took another sip to help his dry mouth. He took Captain Barns under the arm, and they took off.

Captain Huey had apparently done some scouting during the night. He had a path picked out and led them northwest, away from the encamped army. They traveled as fast as they could in the first hour, putting almost a mile between them and the enemy. They didn't stop until Captain Barns fell, taking Scott with him.

"What's wrong?" Huey appeared next to them, his hand still on the lieutenant's shirt—he was always clinging to the lieutenant in someway.

"My leg gave out." Barns hissed as Scott rolled off his bad leg. He checked it to make sure he hadn't worsened the problem but sighed in relief to see he hadn't.

"We've been going hard. Is there a place we can rest for a bit?" Scott looked around, but they were in the middle of an open area and in danger of being spotted.

"Damn. Alright, I'll help. Riley, listen." Huey had taken Riley by the shoulders and was looking him in the eye. "I have a mission for you. You have to obey me, right?"

Slowly the lieutenant nodded.

"You are to hold onto my pants and don't let go. Right here." He grabbed Riley's hand and looped his fingers around the belt loop in the middle of his back. He looked back at the lieutenant and he slowly nodded. Huey reached down and grabbed Barns arm hoisting him back up. Scott quickly scrambled to his own feet and took his other arm. Together they continued across the small plateau. It only took them ten minutes to reach the other side and drop down into the shadows of the valley below, but it was ten minute of carrying a third man. Scott was exhausted. He looked up just in time to see Huey pull himself back up onto the plateau and disappear. Scott scrambled up himself to see what he was doing only to find that Riley had stopped some ways back, and the captain had gone to retrieve him.

"Why did he let go?" Scott was helping Barns under a low outcropping when the two marines showed up again.

"He thought he heard jeeps. Freaked him out a little."

Scott looked over at the troubled lieutenant and noticed his normally blank face was contorted into sheer fear and his hands were shaking. "What exactly did they do to him?"

"If we do get out of here, I'll tell you. It's not something you want to know about before getting captured." Huey was at the edge of the plateau, watching for any sign of trouble. After several minutes, he dropped down and kneeled before Riley. "You're okay, buddy. I promise. No one is going to hurt you again."

Slowly the lieutenant nodded, but he was still shaking and looked like he wasn't quite seeing the captain before him.

Scott frowned but moved his attention back to his own captain. He crawled under the lower portion of the outcropping and sat down next to him, looking him up and down. He was white and shaking just as much as the lieutenant. "You okay?"

"Yeah, just need some rest. Some painkillers would be helpful too if you still have some?"

Scott had taken some from the boxes in the cavern but found that the bottles had very little in them and instead were filled to the brim with cotton. Once counted out, they found they would not have enough to give them to Barns regularly, but had to save them for emergencies. Scott reached into one of his many pockets and pulled out one of the bottles. He popped the lid open and looked inside. There were only ten pills, enough for five more doses. If they still had as far as Scott thought, that was less than one dose a day. He shook out two pills and handed them over with his canteen—which would be empty after this. "We'll relax for the rest of the day, then continue on tonight."

"Agreed." Huey had coaxed Riley under the rocks as well, and they were sitting next to Scott—the captain's hand was once again on Riley's shirt.

They didn't talk much and Scott found himself dozing as they rested. He was in that sort of half sleep when he felt his eyes close but could still hear the breathing of the men around him.

Suddenly, there was a shout from above. His eyes snapped open, and he quickly looked around. Captain Barns was out cold from the pain meds, and Captain Huey was almost laying on Riley trying to keep him quiet. He looked back at Scott and jerked his head to help him. Scott scooted over and grabbed his kicking legs so that Huey could concentrate on his torso. The yelling above them was more pronounced and Scott was even able to make out a few words.

"Idiot— fake— empty."

"Ass—saw—" There was some more noise as rocks cascaded down the side of the embankment they were hiding on. The minutes seemed to drag as they struggled to calm the lieutenant down. Eventually, though, the voices moved away, and a motor started up and faded into the distance.

Scott pointed to himself and then up. Captain Huey nodded. Scott scrambled out from under the outcropping of rock, pulling on his leg, which had gotten caught on one of the rocks, and carefully climbed to the edge. He peeked over the side and could see the jeep disappear in the distance. He glanced around but found the land deserted again. He slid back down and into their hiding spot. "They left." Scott frowned when he noticed that Riley had suddenly become very calm and had gone to sleep."What did you do?"

"Just knocked him out for a moment." Huey was rubbing his face in exhaustion. "Don't worry, he's fine. We'll let them sleep and then head out closer to nightfall."

Scott nodded hesitantly as he sat back down next to Captain Barns. He didn't want to say that he was starting to distrust the two, but there was something going on that Captain Huey was not telling him, and Scott wasn't sure if that was helping or hurting them.


	4. Burgundy Sands

Chapter 4: Burgundy Sands

Scott adjusted his weight from one foot to the other. The floor was hard, and he wished there had been a chair he could sit down on. The majors above him were watching him intently, waiting for him to continue. He reached over and picked up another squat bottle of water—the last one on the table—and took a sip. Colonel Casey cleared her throat behind him and adjusted her seat as well.

"Did they ever tell you about themselves? Those marines?" General Diaz frowned and looked through the report, wisps of gray hair starting to escape the tight bun.

"No. Nor did I ask."

"Why not? You were suspecting them of hiding something. If they were hiding something that could prevent any of you from getting to safety, that is something you should have known."

"They were hiding something, but in a situation like that, you have to put trust in what allies you have."

"Captain James Huey." General Sal was finally looking down, reading from the papers in front of him. "Honor roll in high school. Joined the GDF right after graduation. Excelled at bootcamp and in advanced training. Promoted to lieutenant at age twenty-one, captain at age twenty-three. At the time of the incident, he was twenty-nine. Lieutenant Rayford Riley. Twenty-three at the time of the incident. Dropped out of high school and joined the GDF at age seventeen—though his records claimed he was eighteen. The lie was overlooked because he was a promising soldier. He received his promotion at age twenty." General Sal once again looked up at Scott, his eyes boring into him. "The two were part of the mission they described to you. In fact, they were scouts. Ten pairs of scouts were sent out to make sure the way was safe for the main forces. Nine of the ten pairs were captured. We found out later that it was the tenth pair that had ratted the others out. They had been captured, squealed to save their lives, and then killed. We were working on finding and saving them. That, however, was not part of your mission. The other eight pairs were eventually found and extracted. All still alive, though injured in various ways. Many had been tortured like Lieutenant Riley. They were brave men. Braver than you."

Scott kept his face neutral. "I never said they weren't. I wasn't the only one that received medals of honor because of those events."

"You were the only one that received the congressional one, though."

"That was not my choice. I did try to deny it but was told that I could not."

"General Sal, this is not an argument about the validity of citations." General Huston leaned forward and stared down at his peer on the other end of the table. General Sal frowned, but did not continue.

General Andreasson cleared her throat, bringing the attention of the room to her. "How many days had you been behind enemy lines by this point?"

"Four days, ma'am."

"Only about halfway there, then."

"Yes. Ma'am."

"Then, please, continue. I do not wish to be here until nightfall."

"Yes. Ma'am."

* * *

Night had been slow to come. The sun inched across the sky as they tried to get some sleep like their companions, but something about the marines was still bugging Scott. He wasn't sure he could trust them, and he hated having that thought.

Once the sun had set, Scott shook Captain Barns awake and helped him out of their hiding spot. Captain Huey took the lieutenant, scouted ahead a bit, and came back about ten minutes later. They were clear to get going. Scott took the lead, heading northwest to keep as much distance as they could between them and the army behind them.

It was a long night. Captain Barns was still under the influence of the painkillers and was sluggish. Captain Huey had an extra firm grip on his lieutenant, holding his arm as if he were a captive who was trying to find freedom. Scott looked behind him a few times, to make sure they were still there. They were, but Captain Huey always had his head down, talking to the lieutenant. Because of this, Scott felt he had to be extra observant.

The sky was just starting to turn a dusty gray when they came upon the oasis. It wasn't the natural spring with palm trees and bright green bushes that you would find in the Sahara. The greens here were a drab olive. Bushes without leaves, just yellow stalks. The spring was a small stream that ran a good mile or two but was only a few inches wide. It was water, however, and Scott set his captain down and started to refill their canteens.

"We should find a place nearby to rest." Scott had just gotten the first canteen filled when Captain Huey and his lieutenant showed up.

"We'll get right on it." Captain Huey did not set the lieutenant next to Captain Barns but kept a hold on him and started to walk away.

"Why don't you leave the lieutenant here? I'll keep an eye on him."

"No offense, but he doesn't trust you. Doesn't trust anyone but me."

"Still, I'm the only one with a gun." Scott said this more as a matter of fact rather than any sort of threat.

"Exactly." Captain Huey left without giving Scott the chance to question what he had meant.

Scott stood and took the full canteen over to Captain Barns. "What do you think he meant by that?"

"The lieutenant has been through a lot and is quite unstable." Captain Barns took the canteen and drank a long draught of the water.

"What do you mean, unstable?"

"I mean, he was tortured and trusts no one."

"Except Captain Huey."

"Except Captain Huey." Barns wiped his mouth on the back of his arm and eyed Scott. "He is just trying to keep everyone safe. Not even he knows what the lieutenant might do if he gets spooked."

"He goes crazy." Scott was back on his knees next to the stream, filling up the second canteen.

"I'm sorry?"

"He goes crazy." Scott screwed on the cap and threw it over toward were Barns was sitting. "You were out cold 'cause of the medicine, but a patrol was right on top of us. He was going crazy. Took both of us to hold him down and keep him quiet."

"I see." Captain Barns threw the first canteen back over to Scott. "What was he trying to do?"

"Escape, I assume. Didn't really think to ask."

"He calmed down afterward, though?"

"Captain Huey knocked him out. Said that was the only way."

"Maybe it was."

"The danger had passed, there was no need."

"Marines are a more brutal lot than us pilots. To him, that was the only option."

"I still don't like it. It's too dangerous."

"What, do you think he's going to knock one of us out, if he thinks he can make it on his own?"

"I think it may be a possibility. If he thinks we may hinder him."

"If I wasn't injured, we may have already been home by now."

"Captain?"

"Yes?"

"Before, you said that you and Captain Heinz had gone into the mission expecting never to come back. You were expecting to die."

"I did say that, yes."

"But why?" Scott had finished filling and refilling the canteens and moved over to sit next to him. "I mean, you're both young. There are other, more experienced, pilots who may have been able to do the mission and get out of there."

"There were. They weren't ready to take the risk, yet. They still wanted to live. We were ready to die."

"But why?"

"Because we were going to die anyways."

"What?" Scott's eyes were wide in shock and confusion.

"Well, Captain Heinz was, at least. Eventually."

"You've got to give me more information that that. I mean, we are all going to die, eventually."

"You remember last month? George was given leave to go back to the States for a week."

"Yeah, something about family issues."

"It was medical leave."

"What the hell was wrong?"

"He hadn't been feeling all that great as of late. He hadn't been doing anything different, but he was tired and was having pains in his hip and leg. Plus, he was having some difficulty urinating. He had the docs here check him out, but they couldn't find anything wrong. So, they gave him a week leave to go back to the States and see if any of the doctors there could figure it out." Captain Barns pulled out one of his ration bars and started to nibble on it. "Prostate cancer. Metastasized to the bones in his hip and upper leg."

"Holy shit." Scott couldn't do anything but stare at his captain. They had all noticed that Captain Heinz had seemed a little sluggish, not his usual hyped-up self, but they had just assumed it was because they had been there for so long. They were all getting a little bummed out by their routine. "But there are cures aren't there?"

"Not for this advanced form. They could control it. He would be taking medicine and going to doctors for the rest of his life, but he could possibly live another twenty or thirty years."

"Then why?"

"He'd have to quit the Air Force."

"That seems like a small price to pay."

"I tend to forget that you lot never really got to see the real George." Captain Barns laughed a little, thinking about his partner. "He was a different person when he wasn't trying to impress you guys."

Scott frowned. He respected Captain Heinz. He was a strong man, a strong leader. Firm and always led by doing rather than commanding. But the captain was right. He didn't know anything about the man. He always kept those things private.

"The Air Force was in his blood. I told you his grandfather was a retired general. His father is a colonel. Mother was a captain, until she married his father and then choose to retire. He has a brother who just joined up last year, and a sister who is looking to do the same in a couple of years." Captain Barns smiled as he thought about him. "I said that I was surprised that he had joined after I had told him I had. Truth is, I joined because I knew he would eventually. He had wanted to join the Air Force right out of high school, but I was going to veterinary school. So, he decided to go to collage as well. He didn't get to choose which collage and had played the rebel not wanting to join the ROTC like his parents had wanted him to. So, I decided to learn how to fly. Fell in love with it, that was the truth. Joined ROTC so that he would do it as well and stop fighting with his family. Of course, they didn't actually know about us."

"About you? Oh, about you."

"Yes, the rumors are true. But they had to stay rumors or else we would have been separated."

"Well, I think most of the squadron thought it was more than rumor. We saw how you two acted together, the way you looked at each other. But, still, you covered it up well. "

"We had to. Not even our families know."

"Would it bother them, if they did?"

"My parents wouldn't care. They are for equality of all kinds. Some of their best friends are gay and transgender and whatever else. It was actually because of Uncle Bernie—his birth name was Bernice—that I realized that girls just weren't doing it for me."

"What about his family? Military families tend to be a bit more conservative."

"Yeah, we don't think his family would have been as open to it. It had been awkward between us for quite a few years, before he was open to the idea himself. I had such a crush on him, and I was afraid to tell him."

Scott couldn't help but laugh. He had known some guys and girls during his own high school years that struggled with the same thing. Hell, he had even had a crush on a girl, had finally gotten up the guts to tell her, only to find out she was already dating another girl. Then there was the time one of the football players had asked John out on a date when he was in high school. John was so flustered, he didn't know what to do. Well, he said no, but it had still been funny to watch. After Gordon had won his Olympic medal, he was being asked out by girls and guys alike. He said yes to almost every request.

"But, still, why would he rather die in Afghanistan rather than go home and live for another thirty years? Did he just not want to leave you?"

"He was a loyal bastard. He swore his life to the Air Force and to me, didn't want to leave either."

"So, you both decided to take a mission and die together? I don't know, it doesn't sound all that romantic to me."

Captain Barns barked out a laugh so loud that he quickly covered his mouth and looked around. "No, no. It was more along the lines that he had sworn to live his life protecting his country—and me. He didn't want to have to retreat and live his life fighting this disease. It wasn't what he wanted. He wanted to die fighting for his country."

"Did he actually ask you to do this?"

"No, no. He would never do that. It was only a matter of time, though, that his test results would make it back to the Air Force. He was able to convince the doctors to give him a week or two to think it out. Not like his prognosis would change much."

"So, you volunteered to give him a way to die with honor?"

"Yeah. I didn't want him to die, but I didn't want to see him waste away to nothing. So, I figured if I died with him, I wouldn't really have to see either."

"You do realize that if your reasons for taking this mission comes to light, you could be dishonorably discharged."

"I know."

"Why tell me?"

"Because I trust you. And you deserve to know the truth. I got you into this mess, after all."

Scott nodded. He may not have completely understood their reasons, but could respect them and return the trust given to him.

"I found a spot." Captain Huey appeared over the ridge they were leaning against, alone for once. "Left the lieutenant there. It's a bit damp but cool and sheltered."

Scott pulled himself up and reached down for Captain Barns' hand. Once he was to his feet, they followed Captain Huey to their home for the day.

The alcove was little more than a niche, carved into the rock by the trickle of water that flowed through the middle of it. The dribble separated the four as they settled down. Captain Barns closed his eyes, even though he wasn't able to go right to sleep. His right hand absentmindedly rubbed his right leg, sore from balancing all his weight on it for the past few days. The lieutenant was curled into a ball on the far side, Captain Huey separating him from Scott. Captain Huey himself was just watching his lieutenant. Scott assumed he felt responsible—it was his job to make sure those under him were safe, and he had failed, so all he could do was to get him home safely. He was sure Captain Barns felt the same about him. There was something else going on, but Scott didn't think Huey would tell him, even if he asked. Maybe it had something to do with what had happened to the lieutenant? Maybe they had plans for once they reached the boarder? Maybe they didn't want to return to the military but planned to run away once they were free to do so? There were multiple options, and Scott wasn't sure which was more likely.

Scott finally dozed off late in the morning. The sun was making its way high into the sky, but the trickle of water and the shade made their cover cool and comfortable.

His dreams had been so fragmented as of late, he could never remember them upon waking. This time he had found himself in his old high school. He was on the second floor, near his locker—he had to jump a ravine to get to it. Captain Heinz was at his locker next to Scott's, and Captain Barns was peeking around the corner watching his crush. Scott was smiling at him and thought about telling Captain Heinz. Then Gordon showed up wearing his speedo and gold medal, girls and guys hanging all over him. He was just smiling and enjoying the attention. John walked through after that, and they were suddenly on a football field, which was full of shelves packed with books. John was trying to lose the football player that was following him and trying to ask him out. All the while, there was a girl Scott had a crush on in the bleachers, making out with her girlfriend. Scott was about to go up and declare his love for her when he was shaken out of his dream.

"Tracy, wake up."

Scott opened his eyes to find Captain Huey leaning over him.

"What?"

"We might have some company."

"What!" Scott was fully awake now and looked around. Captain Barns was awake next to him, and Lieutenant Riley was curled up in a ball as far back as he could get.

"We're still safe. Don't worry, they're still a few miles away. I'm going to go take a look, though. Make sure they don't have plans to come this way."

"Are you taking the lieutenant with you?"

Captain Huey looked at his charge for a moment and then shook his head. "No. It would be too dangerous. Just make sure he stays right there. Keep an eye on him, and don't get too close."

Scott had opened his mouth to question the orders, but Captain Huey had disappeared.

"Tracy. Why don't you go out and keep watch. I'll keep an eye on the lieutenant."

"Right." Scott held his hand under the dribble of water and then wiped his face hard to fully wake himself up. He crawled out of their alcove and squatted down in front of it. He pulled out his gun, made sure it was cocked and that the safety was on. This way he could pull it, release the safety, and be ready to shoot by the time he was ready to pull the trigger. Satisfied, he put it back in its holster. He stood up and paced a bit, looking around. The small oasis was bordered by rocks that were barely as tall as he was but rose into hills so he couldn't see past them. The green patch stretched father to the south about a mile, and he caught a glimpse of the jeeps parked on the edge of the rise down that way.

Scott squatted down again and waddled under the outcropping that hid their alcove so that he couldn't be seen. He waited and waited. He wasn't paying attention to what was behind him; his eyes were to the brush where Captain Huey had disappeared. It seemed as if the captain had been gone way too long, and Scott was starting to become worried.

Scott had never quite been sure what had happened in the next few moments. He was on his stomach, dirt in his mouth. Hands were holding him down, and Captain Barns was calling his name in whispered yells. Then, just as suddenly, the hands were gone. Scott flipped over onto his back and looked up at the lieutenant, his gun in the lieutenant's hand. Scott reached down and felt the empty holster, cursing to himself.

He pushed himself up onto his feet, still squatting to keep himself mostly hidden. "Lieutenant Riley. Give me my gun." Scott tried to keep his voice calm and level, but his hands were shaking.

"No. I will not be captured again. I will not let them do that again."

"I won't let you be captured. Captain Huey won't let it happen, either. We are here to protect you."

"No. I won't do it. I won't tell, I won't!"

"I know you won't," Scott tried again, thinking of the voice his father used when he and his brothers were angry about something and he was trying to calm them down. "You are angry, and you have every right to be. But using that gun isn't going to make things any better."

"I won't." The lieutenant didn't seem to be there with him, he was somewhere else, somewhere far more sinister than an oasis in the middle of the desert. Scott stood then, meeting his eyes with the lieutenant.

"Look at me, lieutenant. Look at my eyes and believe me when I say you are safe."

"I won't." He just would not listen to Scott.

Scott took another step forward, his hand starting to reach out to the scared young man. "Just let me have my gun back."

"No, stay away. I won't go back. I won't, I won't."

"I don't want you to go back either. I want to get us back home. Safe and sound."

"I'm not safe. I'll never be safe. My family isn't safe as long as I'm here."

"Did they threaten your family? They can't get to them. They probably don't even know who they are. They were just threats, that was all. Empty threats." Scott took another step forward. The lieutenant seemed to have loosened his grip on the gun for a moment.

"I would never tell them who I was, or who my family was. I have to protect them. I have to protect my brothers."

Scott was shaken by that comment. He knew that feeling. He had brothers to protect as well. "You will protect your brothers, but I need my gun back first."

"I won't be taken."

"No, you won't." Scott took another step, closing the gap between them. His hand was just inches away from the gun. The lieutenant was pointing it at Scott, had been the entire time, but Scott could see that the safety was still on. Even if he pulled the trigger, it would not go off right away. He would have a second to grab the gun before anything else could happen.

And then it did. Lieutenant Riley flipped the gun in his hand so that the barrel was pointed toward his own face. Scott lunged for the gun, but the lieutenant had a tight hold on the weapon and refused to let it go.

They struggled for awhile. Scott tried to pull the gun from his hands, while the lieutenant tried to force the barrel into his mouth. Scott was facing the lieutenant, the gun between them. Scott's finger had slipped onto the trigger, but the safety was still on.

He pulled on the gun, tried to twist it out of the lieutenant's hands. The lieutenant was strong, though, and fought to push the trigger under Scott's finger. The trigger was firm, it would not be moved while the safety was on. As long as the safety was on, it would be okay. Scott would get the gun away form him and—

The bang echoed throughout the oasis. The lieutenant's body dropped. The gun hung limply in Scott's hands, and he stared blankly at the space before him. Slowly, he looked down at the lieutenant. The barrel had been pointing at his noes. His nose that was no longer there, just a hole in his head. Blood was pouring out from under him, turning the ground the same burgundy that Paul's blood had.

Scott could feel his heart skipping, his sweat was cold on his skin, and his hands were shaking. What had he just done?

"Scott!" He finally turned around to whoever was yelling at him. Captain Barns was standing outside of the alcove, his face white, his eyes wide.

"Captain... I..."

"What the hell!" Captain Huey appeared suddenly and stopped short at the scene before him. "What did you do?"

"I... I didn't... he... he..." Scott couldn't seem to connect his thoughts or words together properly. He wanted to tell him it was an accident. He was trying to take the gun away.

"Captain." Captain Barns had spoken up, clearing his throat, but Captain Huey was already at the lieutenant's side. He crossed his chest and then closed the lieutenant's eyes.

"We are leaving, now!" Captain Huey pushed himself past Scott and grabbed Captain Barns, slinging him over his shoulder. "Sorry, we don't have time."

"Scott, come on!" Captain Barns was watching Scott as Captain Huey mounted the hill and started climbing to the top.

Scott nodded, dropped the gun, and followed. He hadn't really noticed that the captain had started calling him by his first name. Hadn't really noticed that they were almost at a full run. Hadn't really noticed the yells from behind. All he could notice was the blood as it dyed the dry earth that ugly shade of burgundy.

"Scott." It was his name. He was sure of that, but he wasn't sure who was calling him or why.

"What is wrong with him? Shock? Had he never killed a man before?"

"We don't have the opportunity to kill like you." The voice was short and angry. "And he didn't kill him. He was trying to get the gun away from him."

"He shouldn't have let him have it in the first place."

"If you had told him the truth in the first place, he would have been more careful."

"Why didn't you tell him. You had seen him reach for it before."

There was a marked silence.

"Either way, he was trying to save him. Talk him down."

"Obviously, it didn't work."

"Obviously."

He could tell his eyes were open, but all he could see was the burgundy. The lieutenant's body, Paul's body, their blood dyeing the whole desert burgundy.

"Scott." There, that was his name again. "Scott, you need to snap out of it."

He knew, he knew he needed to, but everything was so red, such an ugly red, he couldn't see past it. He could feel someone pulling on his arm, could feel himself stand. He was walking again, though he didn't know where. They walked for a long time, in and out of shadows. Occasionally, they would grab his arm and pull him in another direction. Force him up against the rock that surrounded them. Then they would pull him forward again. They walked forever. Scott didn't think they would ever stop walking.

oOo

"Scott." It was his father's voice. Deep and warm, like a spring night on the ranch. "Scott, it wasn't your fault."

"But I was sthupposed to take care of it! I let it die!" He recognized his voice, but it was different, younger. Was this a memory? But what memory?

"You did no such thing." His father had his hand on Scott's shoulder, a small, thin shoulder. "It was sick. It just wasn't made to be."

"But I forgot to feed him. I was sthupposed to feed him and give him his medicthine every day! I forgot!" He could feel his shoulder shaking, could feel the tears he was trying not to shed. Ah, that memory.

"The medicine wasn't helping. Forgetting one day wasn't going to change anything." Scott was crying now, big tears rolling down his cheek. "You remember what the doctor said, right? He was lost, he didn't even belong up here. A hawk like this belonged father south and with others like it. He was lonely and sad. They aren't meant to be kept like this. The chances for a full recovery were slim to begin with."

"But he was going to find sthomeone to take him, sthomeone who could help him."

"He was, but he just wasn't able to do it in time." His father pulled him into a hug, but Scott twisted around to look at the dead bird on the floor of the barn. He had found it when he was wandering around the ranch. Found it sitting on the ground, blood all over the grass around it. They couldn't figure out how it had gotten hurt, but Scott had picked it up and ran home. It was a beautiful hawk, dark brown with rust on its shoulders and stomach, and white under its tail. He had dreamed of seeing it fly again, but that was never going to happen.

oOo

There was a screech, and Scott jumped and looked up into the pale blue sky above them. A hawk was circling, as if it had been called by the memory. Scott blinked a few times and looked around. They were in the open, nothing covering them from above, but the walls of the canyon on either side were too tall to climb or descend. Captain Barns was asleep next to him, his breathing slow and peaceful. Scott looked to his other side and found Captain Huey watching him. Scott blinked a few times, memory catching up with him. His eyes widened—the lieutenant wasn't there. He had killed the lieutenant.

"Hey. Don't do that." Captain Huey's voice was soft but commanding. "We can't have you going into shock again."

"I... I'm sorry... I... I..."

"He's dead. That's all that matters. Probably better off for it." Huey's voice was distant.

"Where?"

"We're at least three miles away from there. Had to duck down into a canyon to avoid getting caught. It was close there for a while. I think I may have hurt your captain a bit manhandling him, though. You'll have to take a look at him when you're more with it."

"I..."

"Stop thinking about it. It is over. Start thinking about how we're going to get out of here."

His voice was stern, and Scott could tell that he was not forgiven for the actions that had occurred. He was right, though, all they could do right now was keep looking forward.

"Tell me. Details. How we're here."

Captain Huey nodded, looking up at the hawk that was still circling above. "We ran west, maybe a little south, not sure. Came to the edge of the canyon, though more of a ravine at that point. It was a shallow slope so we slid down. Headed south then, along the bottom. The walls just kept getting taller as we went. Eventually we hit a T, and I hope I went west. I was trying to keep a hold of your captain while making sure we weren't being followed."

"The T. Left or right?"

"Right."

"Good, west, then." Scott looked up and farther down the canyon they were in. The walls were close to fifty feet and sheer. They were trapped if anyone found them. However, the only thing they could do was keep walking.

The sky was fading to a deep blue, the hawk had gone on to find food elsewhere. Captain Barns started to stir on Scott's other side, and Scott scooted over to check on his leg. The splints he had first put on were mostly broken—not that they had been that strong to begin with. He took off the ones that were not doing any good and repositioned the ones that were still mostly whole. Captain Barns did not speak during this, he just sat and watched as Scott worked.

Finally, Scott sat back on his heels and sighed.

"Are you okay?"

"No." Scott's eyes felt heavy, and he could still see burgundy in the ground around him. He really wanted to do nothing but sleep, but that was something they just could not do.

"I know you didn't—"

"Not now. I can't." Scott's voice had taken on a morose tone, something Captain Barns had never heard in the confident pilot.

"Right."

"We're going to carry you from now on."

"Not very graceful, but I agree. We'll be able to make better time." Captain Barns was still looking at Scott, trying to calculate just how bad he was. "How much father do we have?"

"Two days if lucky, three if safe."

"It's time." Captain Huey stood up and walked over to Captain Barns, leaning over to pick him up.

"No, I will," Scott offered, but it was a weak one.

"No. Your job is to navigate, I'm the work horse." Captain Huey didn't look at Scott as he lifted Captain Barns onto his back and started off. Scott jogged a little to catch up and then took the lead.

Scott had been right—the safe guess, at least. Three days later, they had started to head south when a convoy appeared on the horizon. They all tensed, looked quickly around, but there wasn't anywhere nearby for them to hide. At first they feared that they had been caught. Captain Huey set Captain Barns easily onto his good foot as the trucks made their way closer. They stood there, exhausted, ready to give up. The only reason they hadn't yet, during the last three days, was only because they had not been seen before then. The leading truck broke off and finished the trek to where they stood. It parked itself a hundred feet away. A soldier got out, his brown helmet pulled down low over his eyes, his bulletproof vest tight around his chest, and his assault rifle tucked under his arm, ready to use if needed. He pointed his gun at the three of them as another soldier stepped out of the driver's door.

"Friend or foe?" He squinted his eyes, but the sun was bright and reflected off the sand under their feet.

"Depends on who's asking." Captain Huey sighed and straightened up a bit. "Captain James Huey. Marine. GDF. Serial number 45-74736C."

The soldier with the gun lowered it a fraction as he looked over to his commanding officer. The officer waved him forward, and the two started to close the distance between them. They stopped, but the gun was still pointed at them. They were all too tired to raise their hands, though, and that seemed to make the major before them hesitant to trust them quite yet.

"How about you two?"

"Captain Bradley Barns. United States Air Force. Serial number 39-28593P."

"Lieutenant Scott Carpenter Tracy. United States Air Force. Serial number 40-839482P."

"Pilots? From the two planes that got shot down a week ago?" They could see the major's eyes widen behind his sunglasses. "Lower your gun. Get these men some help."

The soldier with the gun lowered it at the command and then reached over to the walkie on his shoulder. "Get a couple of medics up here STAT. A stretcher to boot. Bring truck fifteen as well."

They could see movement in the ranks behind them. A truck pulled out of line and started up alongside its companions. When it reached them, two men jumped off, red crosses painted on their helmets. They had a hover stretcher and helped Captain Barns onto it. They led Captain Huey and Scott to the back of the truck, the other soldiers that were inside pulled them up. The major and his companion hitched a ride as the truck made its way back to the others. Commands were yelled and things were shuffled around. The soldiers that were on truck fifteen got off, one medic stayed but, otherwise, it was just the three of them.

"This truck will take you back to Chaman and to an evac heli. They should be able to get you back to Shindand in a couple of hours." The major slapped the back of the truck, and with a rumble, they were gone.

Scott was sitting up on one of the benches that lined the back of the truck. He was having trouble staying upright, and the medic seemed to notice. He was next to him, his hand on his wrist and a light in his eyes. Next thing Scott knew, he was flat on his back, the medic and Captain Huey looking down at him. His eyes were still heavy, he hadn't slept at all in the past three days. He knew, if he did, he would only have nightmares. He didn't want to think about it, he didn't want to remember it, but his eyes were so heavy. He felt a pinch in his arm, then the sting as something foreign was pushed into it. Slowly, his eyes closed, and there was nothing but oblivion.

The next thing Scott remembered was the noise. Propellers, large ones, spinning fast above him. He was laying down but moving. They were taking him onto the evac heli. They hung his stretcher on the side of the hull, and he looked over and could see Captain Barns across the way from him. There was a different medic next to Scott now, feeling his arm and poking him with a needle. He reached over him and hung up a bag of clear liquid. There was another prick in his arm, and he faded off again.

When he woke next, he was in a bright room. All white and lights. Beds lined the walls with thin curtains as the only means of privacy. His curtain was closed. The sheets over him were corse and stiff. The pillow under his head crinkled as he tried to move. He could feel the IV in his arm and saw the bag of fluid above him. He closed his eyes and let himself drift off on his own this time. He was safe. It was all in the past now. Only the real nightmare was just beginning.


	5. Timeless Abyss

**Warning: This is the darkest chapter of the story, preceed with caution. If you want to know more details PM me.**

Chapter 5: Timeless Abyss

It had been well past three o'clock when he had finished telling his story, and General Belousov had decided that it was too late to continue. It was agreed, between the five of them, that they would reconvene in two days' time. Scott wasn't sure what else there was to tell them. Or, rather, he did, but he did not particularly want to. The majors had all stood and filed out of the room through a door behind them. Colonel Casey had appeared at Scott's shoulder, took his elbow, and led him to one of the benches near the door.

"Are you staying in town or going home?"

"Going home." Scott kept his replies short. He was tired and just wanted to leave that horrid room.

"Why don't you come to my house for a bit, relax before you take off?"

"No, I'm going home."

"Scott. You don't look good. Stressed, white as a sheet. I'm not sure you can fly like that."

Scott couldn't help but smile at the colonel. "Flying was never the issue." Those were words he had repeated so often back then. Finally, she relented but followed him to the public airstrip where his plane sat. She watched as he took off and then turned to call someone else.

The hum and low vibration of Tracy One soothed Scott's rattled nerves. General Huston had wrapped his story up for him, rattling off what little was left to tell. In the hospital for a week. Spent three days training with a new spotter. Was put back on active duty. Three days later, received a promotion, which had been retro-dated to just after his return. Then, sent back stateside. Stationed at Nellis for the remainder of his four-year commitment. Honorable discharge at almost three years of service. Twenty months after the incident, awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor for his bravery and determination to get Captain Barns and Captain Huey home.

However, there was plenty that had not made it into that report.

While he was in the hospital that first week, base psychologists came by occasionally to talk to him but never pried into what had happened. Mostly they just asked if he thought he was able to fly again. Sure, he had told them. Flying wasn't the issue.

So it had been decided that he would stay with his unit. When he was discharged from the hospital, he was met by Captain Kathleen Rivera. She was the new captain in charge of his squadron—Captain Barns had already been sent to a larger hospital, where he would spend the next several months recovering before returning to active duty. Her callsign was Mother Hen, so it sort of worked with the unit. She was polite but refused to walk on eggshells around him. She asked him straight out if he was able to fly. Again, flying wasn't the issue.

He was paired up with Piglet, a sweet girl with a bit of a stutter—named for the Winnie the Pooh character. She was sweet and nice, and Scott had no issue flying with her as they tested out their compatibleness.

However, the problem was Scott was still cracked, broken. When he was in the plane, he could push it all aside and do what he had to do. When he was on the ground, he couldn't seem to run far enough away. He tended to hide in his room when he was not on duty. A room that was both suddenly lonely—Paul's cot neatly made and empty—and his only sanctuary. Captain Rivera would order him to the canteen to eat, or the break room to mingle. He would go but would go to the far corner and sit. At first, the others in the squadron tried to get him involved in things, tried to talk to him, but Scott just shook his head. He was put on active duty a week and a half after his return. Flew for three days. There had been no incidents, nothing to challenge his ability to fly. However, after he landed on the third day, thanked Piglet for her help, Captain Rivera pulled him off to the administration offices.

* * *

"Scott Carpenter Tracy." The man behind the desk was a major. Scott had never heard of him, but apparently he had been in Afghanistan for almost ten years on and off. "The higher-ups have read the report you filed while still in the hospital and have decided that you performed above and beyond your current rank. This came in this morning." He handed Scott a large manilla envelope.

Scott blinked down at it and slowly unwound the string holding the flap closed. He pulled out the letter inside. It was a commendation and notice of a promotion to captain. "I... I don't think—" Scott was still having some trouble stringing his words together, one reason he chose not to speak much.

"You do not have a choice." The major had held his hand up. "The promotion is retro-dated a week ago. However, you will not fly here as a captain. Captain Rivera has been in to see me multiple times about you. Your flying is flawless, by the textbook. However, according to others in your squadron, you have withdrawn into yourself. Understandable, after what you went through. However, that is not something we need in our pilots here. Your doctors say you need to fly, I agree, but it needs to be in a more settled environment. You are being shipped home as of tomorrow. You'll be reassigned a new unit at Nellis and will serve out the rest of your obligation there. Once it comes time to consider extending your stay with the Air Force, your file will be re-evaluated and action taken from that point on to your ability to fly in combat situations."

Scott didn't say anything. His mind was reeling with all sorts of questions and arguments and yet nothing would stay long enough for him to say anything. He just nodded and followed Captain Rivera out the door. He returned to his quarters, packed his things, and went to sleep.

There was time before his flight left the next day, so Captain Rivera had dragged him to the break room, where his squadron had given him a little farewell party. He had also been tricked into talking to his father. In the almost two weeks he had been back, he had yet to talk to his family. They had been informed, of course, but Scott had been putting it off, not quite ready to see his father's face.

"Scott!" His father's voice was weary, tired, but happy.

"Hi, Dad." Scott was pushed down into the seat before his dad's hologram. This had been the same seat he had last talked to Alan in and the thought burst through before he could stop it. "Where's Alan?"

"At school. Orientation. I'll be joining him tomorrow."

"Oh."

"Don't worry. He's fine. A little sore at you for some reason, but he's fine."

"That's good."

"How are you doing, son?"

"Fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. They're, umm... I'm being sent back. Stateside. Back to Nellis."

"Really? That's wonderful. Your brothers will be excited to see you."

"What… are they?" Scott didn't want to talk about himself, and he could tell his father wanted just that—he kept giving him worried looks.

"Well, like I said, Alan is at orientation for college. Virgil is still working for me, doing a bang up job at that. Gordon... I'm not sure if he'll be able to come see you or not. He's about to go underwater for a year. He had found out just before... well…" Jeff shrugged his shoulders. "I don't think he'll go down till mid-August, so he might be able to get a day or two off to come see you. John, of course, is still in space. Took off in April, wasn't it? He should be back late October, I believe though, they were talking about extending the mission a bit. I'm sure I could pull some strings if you wanted to talk to him."

"No, that's fine." Scott shook his head. He was sure he had worried John enough for the time being.

"Do you know when you'll be back? No, actually, don't worry. I'll call Nellis and find out."

"Alright."

"Are you sure—"

"I'm fine."

"Alright. I'll see you when you get home. Love you."

"Love you, too." Scott closed the comm channel and looked around. The other members of the squadron had abandoned the room to give him some privacy. Scott sighed and picked up his gear. It was time to go anyways.

The flight took almost twenty-four hours, not counting the layover in Germany. He had left on a Friday and arrived at Nellis on Sunday morning. There were others on their way home as well. Scott waited until they had gotten up and walked off the plane before he did. He looked over to the public access fence, where the families were allowed to come and welcome home their wayward members. He picked Alan out right away. He was smiling and bouncing on his toes. Their eyes met, and Scott looked away—he wasn't ready to face him yet, any of them. Not that he had a choice in the matter. The gates had been opened, and wives, husbands, mothers, father, boyfriends, and girlfriends were running out and tackling their loved ones. A few kids were ducking through legs to reach their parents and siblings. Alan had burst through and rammed into Scott, pushing him back a few steps and the air from his lungs.

"Hey." Scott's voice was emotionless. He could hear himself and frowned at the tone. "Look... sorry..."

"You don't have to say anything." Alan shook his head and just tightened his hold. He had gotten taller at some point, had grown up to Scott's nose. He just leaned into the head and hugged him back. Another body joined the hug, larger but still shorter than Scott. Dark hair blocked his view and he knew it had to be Virgil. Another body on his other side, blond head joining the first, Gordon. Then from behind, the strong, secure hug of his father. They stood there for quite some time, not saying anything, just being there. Scott hadn't realized that he had needed this. To just be there, with his brothers and his father. Still, he wasn't whole. He was still cracked, but his family was there, holding him together for now.

They let go eventually, and Alan grabbed his arm as Virgil grabbed his bag and they led him away. He was given a week's leave, though he had already told his father he did not want to go home to Kansas. Instead, they took him to his apartment on base. They would stay for the week. Alan and Virgil in the apartment with him, Gordon and their father in a nearby hotel. Gordon had wanted to stay as well, but Jeff knew that would be a little too much for Scott at the moment—leaving Alan was pushing it as it was, but Alan could not be separated from the oldest.

Things went fine that week. He had his brothers there, helping him. Virgil cooked breakfast and lunch—they usually went out for dinner. They went and saw some movies—comedies only. Played board games and card games. Went shopping. Scott still didn't talk much, but they didn't force him either. He slept a lot, too. Went to bed early, got up late, and often took a nap in the afternoon. Alan was usually with him, Gordon not far off. Often he could hear Virgil and their father talking at the kitchen table. Discussing him, but in low enough voices that Scott couldn't tell what they were saying. They were worried about him, that was clear enough, though.

Once the week was over, they left. Alan cried, he didn't want to leave, but school was starting. He wasn't that far away and swore he would come over on weekends and visit. Gordon said he would think of him while he was on the bottom of the ocean. Virgil promised he'd come by and visit as well, if his tyrant of a boss ever gave him time off. Everyone laughed, even Scott managed a smile. Then they were gone.

Alone again, the nightmares came back. He was up most nights, unable to sleep. Small sounds scared him, he jumped at dogs barking, and reached for the gun that wasn't there.

On duty, he was the perfect captain. He thought they would put him behind a desk, but his doctors said that he needed to fly. So they made him fly. He flew with new spotters, training them in what to do, how to talk to the pilot, and what kind of information the pilot needed. He had small classes, groups of fifteen newbies at a time. He'd take them up one by one, it was an easy—yet rewarding—job.

He was required to see psychologists several times a week but usually didn't talk much about what had happened, only what was happening. His talking was getting better, he wasn't stuttering and halting on his words as much. They could see the improvement, so after a month they said he didn't need to go anymore.

He was still having nightmares, though. He probably should have told them, but it wasn't their business. At least, that was what he kept telling himself.

It was after that first month back on duty that he had made a bad choice. He was tired. He hadn't slept for probably two days because of the nightmares. So he got in his car and drove out into the city, far from the base, and bought a bottle of whisky. He took it home and drank it. All of it.

He hadn't meant to do it. It had been an accident. Luckily it had been a Friday, so the fact that he slept until Sunday hadn't been a problem. The fact that he could have killed himself hadn't occurred to him.

He was able to work fine the next week, so the next Friday when he was exhausted again from lack of sleep, he bought another bottle. Slept until Sunday again.

He realized that he was doing this all wrong. He was waiting until he was exhausted and then drinking too much, but if he drank a little at a time, it would help him sleep during the week. He just had to be more careful about it. So Sunday he bought another bottle. A smaller one this time, so he wouldn't accidentally drink more than he intended.

It worked like a charm. He would drink a little each night, sleep well, and be ready for work the next day.

Scott Tracy was still cracked. It looked like he had gotten better, but that was just fresh paint on a cracked wall. Given time, the cracks would show again.

In public, on the base, when his brothers would visit, he was smiling and laughing and seemed to be his old self again. When he was alone, he was quiet, depressed, and tightly strung. Images of the lieutenant were never far from his mind. He hardly slept in his bed, usually passed out on his couch. He had started taking a shot of whisky in the morning before leaving for base. It kept him alert—at least, that's what he told himself. He would only sleep in his bed when he had visitors. He would hide the bottles, made sure the apartment didn't smell of booze. No one knew. No one.

* * *

Scott shook his head and adjusted the flaps a little on his plane. He was nearing the island and knew his brothers would want to know how the meeting with the GDF brass had went. He wasn't ready to tell them. He wasn't ready to face them.

"Tracy One calling Thunderbird 5."

"Scott, we were starting to wonder when you would get back." John's hologram popped on and he was smiling, his voice upbeat. "Alan has been bugging me all day wanting to know when we would become active again."

"Listen, John." Scott's tone was somber, and the smile on his brother's hologram faded. "Can you send down the elevator? I want to come up and talk."

"I can come down—"

"No. I want to come up."

"Alright, it'll be waiting on you."

"Thanks." Scott let a small curve grace his lips, but it disappeared quickly. "Can you give me clearance?"

"Sure. I'll see if Virgil can sidetrack Alan and Gordon for you."

"Thanks." Scott sighed in relief at that. John always did know just what he needed or didn't need.

The island was in sight. It would take a good half-hour for the elevator to lower, so he took his time, taking a long detour to line up to the runway so that no one could see him coming from the house. That, of course, wouldn't stop them from hearing him, but hopefully Virgil would be able to keep them busy. He landed with ease, taxied into the hanger, and finished shutdown procedure, placing the blocks behind the wheels and filling the small plane up again so it was ready to go back in a couple of days. He then made his way to the elevator that would take him up to the house. It opened in the main hallway, off of the lounge, and he slipped around the corner and down the hidden hall.

Quickly, he ducked into the small locker room and pulled out his space suit. It was slightly different than his normal gear, gloved hands and bio-circuitry similar to John's own, but in his own colors. They each had one in case they had to do a shift up in Thunderbird 5.

He changed quickly, not wanting to give his little brothers the chance of finding him, and then took the stairs that would bring him to the landing anchor for the space elevator. It was still too early for it to be there, but he opened the door and walked out onto the platform, looking up. The hatch had opened and he could see the bottom of it slowly coming closer. Another ten minutes later and the grappling clamp had secured itself to the anchor. Scott opened the door and jumped in. The elevator was mostly automatic, so Scott only had to buckle himself in and lean back as the grappling hook released and the thin cable pulled the pod back into space.

John was waiting on him when he exited the airlock. "Are you okay?"

"What do you think?"

"No. I don't think you are." He tapped at his sash bringing up an audio link. "Virgil. I'm going to transfer control of Five down to you for the time being."

"Is there a problem?" Virgil's reply was tinged with worry.

"No. I just don't want any distractions at the moment." John glanced over at Scott, who looked away and pulled himself farther down the corridor.

"F.A.B."

John closed the connection and turned to follow his brother.

Scott led the way, not stopping until he reached the galley and the small table that sat off to the side. He sat down and leaned his face into his hands.

"Colonel Casey called me just as you took off," John commented softly. "Told me that they had you telling them about Afghanistan."

"In detail." Scott's reply was muffled by his hands.

"How far did you get?"

"Told them everything that my file said."

"And the other stuff?"

"Been thinking about it."

"I see." John stood and walked over to one of the computers. He punched in a few buttons and returned a moment later with two tumblers filled with coffee, black. "Careful, it's hot."

Scott nodded as he took the tumbler and sucked carefully at the straw on top. "When was it you came back to Earth?"

"November 10th. They had extended the mission by a week."

"Right."

* * *

Scott had known the date. He had had a calendar in his apartment counting down the days. He knew he needed to talk to someone. Knew it. But he hadn't wanted to talk to a psychiatrist. Couldn't talk to his father—every time he saw him, he looked at Scott with sickening pride. He couldn't talk with his other brothers either. Gordon was at the bottom of the ocean, and they could only send small written messages once a week to him. Alan was too young. Virgil was working his ass off for their father, and he didn't want to add to that stress. He had always been able to talk to John about stuff, but John was in space.

November 3rd. Finally, John should be home. Scott waited, though, until the 4th. He knew acclimation was difficult, so he would give him the day. At least, he tried. He was dialing John's number at 0300 hours on the 4th. No answer. 0400 hours. No answer.

0500 hours. No answer.

0630 hours. No answer.

0700 hours. No answer.

Finally at 0800 hours, he called his father. "Where is John?" He didn't say hello or how are you, just straight to the point.

"He's still in space." His father's reply was short, professional. He was already deep into work.

"No, he was supposed to come back on the 3rd."

"The mission got extended. Decision was made last week."

"How come I wasn't told?"

"I wasn't aware you were waiting on him."

"Well, I was."

"It's just one more week. Surely you can wait."

"Yeah. Don't have a choice." Scott hung up on his father.

The phone rang right back. "Scott. Is something the matter?"

"No. I just... I wanted to talk to John. He's the only one I haven't talked to." It was the truth, at least.

"Ah. If you want, I may be able to pull some strings—"

"No. No. I'll wait."

"You know you can always come and talk to me, right?"

"Yeah, yeah."

"Love you."

"Yeah, you too." This time, his father hung up first.

It was the weekend, he had stopped drinking himself into a stupor on weekends, but that didn't mean he had stopped drinking. One small glass at a time. Never the whole bottle. He was okay as long as he kept to that rule.

His classes had ended for the time being. His students were being sent to various squadrons around the country. It would be January before he was given more. Till then, he was doing paperwork. Nobody even knew he was there. No one even cared. He missed Tuesday and no one said anything. When he went in Wednesday, they were surprised when he apologized, saying he had stayed up late watching movies. No one had known, no one had cared. So he didn't go Thursday. He didn't go Friday.

He sat in his apartment and drank, one glass at a time. He had nothing to do to keep his mind busy, so it found its own way to stay busy. Images of the lieutenant stopped flashing in his mind, the memory just started playing on repeat. The ground was burgundy. Soaked with his blood. Brain matter was splattered everywhere, soft gray among the red. The gun was in his hand. It was in the lieutenant's mouth. The safety was on. It was on! The bang echoed. The lieutenant was on the ground. The ground was burgundy.

Scott looked at the clock. It was Saturday morning, November 11th. John should be home.

He grabbed his cell and tapped on John's picture. The phone rang and rang and eventually went to voicemail. He didn't leave a message but hung up and tried again. The phone rang and rang again.

"Hullo."

"John!"

"Who is it?"

"Scott. Look, I need to talk."

"Scott? Hey, good to hear you."

"Yeah, can you talk?"

"Does it have to be now? I'm so tired."

"Oh." Scott looked at the clock, it was Saturday morning 0342 hours. "Yeah. I guess. I... just... yeah... later." He ended the call and set his phone down.

Once again, the gun was in his hand. The lieutenant before him. The gun was in his mouth, the safety was off. When did the safety get flipped off? The bang echoed in his head. The lieutenant fell to the ground. Blood and brains splattered everywhere. The ground turned burgundy.

The gun was in his hand again. The lieutenant before him. Scott wasn't sure when he had moved to stand in front of the mirror. Wasn't sure how long it had been since he had hung up the phone. Wasn't sure when he had gone to the drawer in his living room. When he had unlocked it. When he had taken his gun from it. He only knew the lieutenant was standing in front of him. The gun was in his hand. It was in his mouth.

The bang echoed throughout the building.

Green eyes stared into his. A hand was on top of his. The gun was pulled from his grasp and he collapsed onto the floor.

There were more people in the room now. Yelling, exclamations, worried shouts. One voice raised above the others. He was in control. He would take care of it. The gun disappeared. The people disappeared.

Green eyes were staring into his again. "Scott?"

Scott blinked and finally looked back at the green eyes and cried.

"If you hadn't been there…" Scott was leaning on his arm, looking down as the Earth passed below them.

"I wouldn't have if you hadn't called."

"Why did you come? You had to have been exhausted."

"I was. But when my big brother calls me at 5:30 in the morning and doesn't sound like himself, something had to be wrong." John frowned, remembering the call. "My big brother, Scott Tracy, who was always so confident about everything, never hesitant in anything he did. That Scott Tracy was on the phone in my ear stuttering and apologizing and hung up before I could get in another word."

"Did you even know anything that had happened?"

"I knew you had been shot down and that you had returned. Other than that, nothing. I imagine Dad didn't want to worry me. You could have gotten permission to talk to me, you know."

"Yeah, but I didn't—"

"Didn't want to worry me, I know." John let a small smile grace his lips for a moment before the frown returned. "How much do you remember after…" John waved his long-fingered hand through the air, trying to encompass the word neither of them wanted to say.

"Not much. Not till we were in San Francisco. Even then, I'm not sure how long we'd been there."

John leaned back in his chair and watched his brother closely. "I just wondered, 'cause you've never asked about it."

"It was never important." Scott leaned back in his own chair and looked up at John. "Knowing about it wasn't going to help me move on."

"What about now?"

"Do you really think they'll ask?"

"Maybe not directly, but they do want to know." John leaned forward again, looking down at his own hands. "The question now is, do you want to know?"

"I don't know."

"You did come to me, you know. I'm the only one left that knows everything."

"You never told anyone?"

"It was never mine to tell." John looked up, a small grin on his face. "Though I think Virgil might have some ideas."

"Alright, then." Scott took a deep breath and slapped his hands onto the table. "Dr. Holland told me that to get over it, I needed to acknowledge it and accept it all. So, I suppose, it is time I heard it."

John nodded, and looked down at the tumbler of coffee in his hand. He rolled it around and took a sip. It was going to be a long night, but not near as long as the months that followed Scott's suicide attempt.


	6. A Starless Day

Chapter 6: A Starless Day

The Earth once again passed by as the gravity ring swung the two brothers around, holding them firmly to the chairs in the galley of Thunderbird 5. Scott took another sip of his coffee as John fiddled with the straw in his own tumbler. He had asked for the truth. All of it. So John was telling him, all six months' worth of it.

* * *

It had been mayhem right after. Neighbors had started coming in through the door John had left open to investigate the sound. They were all officers of various ranks with their own guns for protection. John held up his hands, the gun still in one but in a way that was nonthreatening.

"Calm down. He's fine." He wasn't fine, John knew that. A healthy man didn't just stick a gun in their mouth for fun. The thought of what he had seen, what he had just barely stopped, made his stomach roll.

"What the hell happened?" The first man that had entered—a major, if John was remembering his insignia correctly—glanced around, taking in everything he could see. His gun was lowered to the ground but still ready should he need it.

"I… I think he was…" John was hesitant to say it, didn't want to say it, but looked back at Scott slumped down onto the floor. "He tried to…" He half-waved the gun in his hand.

"Ah." The major nodded as he uncocked the gun and flipped the safety back on. The others followed him, and John lowered his own arms. "There had been rumors about him." Of course there had been rumors. But as rumors are, no one knew just how much of them were true.

John's eyebrows raised in question but then he shook his head. He wanted to know what the rumors were, but now was not the time. "I think you need to leave, give him some more room."

"Agreed." The major turned to those around him. "Everyone out that doesn't need to be here!" Slowly they left, going back to their own apartments to stand in the doorways and watch to see what would happen next. By the time the major had walked out the door, two security officers were making their way up the stairs.

"What is going on?" The officers stopped and looked between John and the major.

"My brother…" John looked behind him again, very much wanting to get back to him, to not leave him alone any longer.

"Go, take care of him. I'll explain the situation." The major nodded in sympathy. Rumors or not, the man in the apartment was in extreme distress.

"Thank you." John nodded and turned, but a hand stopped him.

"I suggest you give the gun to the captain, though."

John looked down at his hand—having forgotten that he even had it—and held it out, ready to rid himself of the nasty tool. He turned his back on the military men and stumbled back down the hall to Scott. He knelt down in front of him, looking him in the eyes.

"Scott." He had his hands on his shoulders, they were shaking as he looked his older brother up and down for any wounds. The man before him didn't move. "Scott!" He shook him a little this time, and slowly his head raised and he looked at him.

"John?" His voice cracked as tears started to run down his face.

John pulled him into a hug, wrapping his arms as tightly as he could around him, afraid that if he loosened them Scott would slip away. "God, Scott. Why?"

Scott did not reply, but continued to cry, so John just held him.

"You said he was your brother?"

John jumped at the noise and looked up at the captain, who was standing in the doorway. "Yes."

"I called in the paramedics. He should go to the hospital just to make sure he doesn't have any other injuries. They should be here shortly. Once you are gone, we will be making a full investigation of the matter."

John just nodded as he clung to his brother.

"Sir. Are you okay? You don't look too well yourself."

"No, I am not." John snapped each word in agitation.

"Are you impaired?"

John couldn't help but sigh. He did not have time for this, his brother needed him. "I am an astronaut and just returned to Earth not even twenty-four hours ago." John clenched his jaw and reached into his back pocket and threw his wallet at the MP. "I received a distressed call from my brother at 0500 hours and grabbed the next plane here. I am tired and stressed and worried about him. So, no. I am not okay."

The MP stooped down and picked up the wallet, looking at the NASA ID inside. "Understood."

They sat there in silence for what seemed like an eternity when medics finally pushed past the captain, hauling a clunky stretcher behind them. "Alright, let's get you up here." One of the medics reached down and grabbed Scott's arm.

Scott exploded. "Don't touch me!" He was on his feet, his face wet with tears.

"Whoa, settle down." The medic had his hands up and was backing away.

"Scott." John took a deep breath and reached over and laid a hand on his shoulder. This time it was not shaking, at least not visibly.

Scott jerked and looked over at John, his eyes calming instantly.

"Go back, I'll walk him down."

The medics nodded and retreated with their stretcher.

Winding his arm around Scott's waist, he pulled him closer. "We're going on a little trip. Okay?"

Slowly, Scott nodded.

John led him through the door, down the hall, and out of the apartment, stumbling a little as they went. They went down the stairs and out of the building, where the ambulance waited, its lights flashing. John stepped up into the back of the ambulance and then pulled Scott up after him. John was sitting next to Scott in the back of the ambulance, his head on John's shoulder as it pulled away from the apartments.

They were in the ICU. Scott lay sleeping in the bed, an IV of fluids slowly dripping into him. John sat in a chair by his side, his hand in Scott's and his head on Scott's leg, turned so he could look up at his face and watch his chest rise and fall. He was exhausted but worried. His leg was bouncing from all the caffeine he had consumed on the plane and during his wait in the waiting room. He needed to sleep, he knew, but his eyes were glued to his brother's face. So intent was he in counting Scott's breaths, he hadn't noticed the movement in the room, did not see the shadow in the doorway. John jumped when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"John." It was his father, his face lined with worry in the dim room. "You look like crap."

"I feel like it." John rubbed his face with his free hand. "How long have you been here?"

"Just arrived. You promised me details."

John hadn't had the energy to text much of anything to his father, just enough to tell him where they were and that Scott was okay, relatively speaking.

"Scott, he…" John looked back at his brother, still unable to use the word he needed to. "He had a gun and…"

Jeff sighed and shook his head, stopping John from continuing. "I get it, you don't have to…" Jeff seemed to deflate as he pulled up another chair and sat down next to his second son.

"They did a full physical. He's dehydrated, but nothing else is wrong. Though there are still some labs they're waiting on. Drug tests and such."

"Do you think they may find something?"

"He was drinking. A lot, it looked like. There were bottles of whisky all over the apartment."

"Not surprising." Jeff leaned back in his chair, looking up at the ceiling. "Not that I knew about it, but it's not surprising."

"Dad?"

"Hm?"

"What happened to him? I mean, after he was shot down? He's mumbled a few things, but I can't understand anything."

"I don't know. The official report is still sealed, and he hasn't told me or anyone else anything."

"Did you have any idea?" John laid his face in the palm of his free hand.

"A hunch, but any time I asked him, he sounded okay. Said he was fine. I did call and talk to his commanding officer, and there were no issues on base." Jeff stood and started to pace. "Only once did I really start to worry."

"When?" John's head jerked up at that.

"Last week. He called looking for you. Didn't know the mission had been extended. I hadn't thought to tell him. I should have dropped everything then and gone to see him."

"It's not your fault." John stood, finally letting go of Scott's hand. "He hid it."

"I'm his father."

"That doesn't make you a mind reader." John stood next to him, stopping his pacing. "He could have been living with you and you may not have noticed."

"John." Jeff looked over at his son, wondering when he had grown so much. "You really do look like crap."

"That's what happens when you don't get a chance to acclimate to gravity properly." There was a strained smile on his lips as he looked down at his father.

"How much have you slept?"

"Only a few hours."

"Since you landed?" Jeff was shocked and took a step back to get a good look at him.

"Yeah. Couple of hours on the flight back to Houston and then a couple more before Scott woke me. Couldn't sleep on the flight here."

"Shit, John. How are you still functioning?"

"Caffeine."

"Sleep. Go get you a hotel room. I'll stay."

"No! I don't want to leave." John started to go back to Scott's bed, but Jeff caught his arm.

"Then lay down on the couch. I'll get you a blanket and pillow."

"I'll lay down, but I'm not sure I'll be able to get to sleep."

"Why?"

John held up his hands, which were shaking with the caffeine jitters. "Still got quite a bit of fake energy stored up." Jeff frowned at him and then glanced at Scott as he left the room. John walked back over to his chair and sat down, taking Scott's hand back into his. Jeff was gone for quite a bit of time. John had laid his head back down on Scott's leg, watching him breath again, when he once again felt a hand on his shoulder. He sat up and looked up at his father. He had a cup of water in one hand and was holding the other out to him. John held up his shaky hand and Jeff dropped two pills into it.

"Sleeping pills. You need sleep."

John looked down at the small white pills and sighed. He couldn't argue. He took the cup and downed the pills. Jeff had his hand under John's arm pulling him to his feet and over to the couch. It was a futon, and Jeff had already laid it flat and had a pillow and blanket waiting on him. John sat down and could feel his whole body start to shake from exhaustion. His father was on his knees taking off his shoes and socks, setting them off to the side. He then pushed John down and covered him with the blanket.

John could still see Scott, could still see his chest rise and fall with every breath. His father had sat down next to him and was combing through his hair. "Dad?"

"Yes?"

"Is he going to be alright?" John had felt himself in the big brother role during the rush of getting Scott to the hospital. Now, he felt as little as he had when their mother had died. Small and unable to do anything, not knowing anything, and he hated it.

"I don't know." His father's voice was low and rumbly, but not in the angry way, it was the tired, worn-out sound they heard from him when he was stressed.

Slowly John's eyes grew heavy, and he while he fought for a bit, he finally relented and let them close.

He was disoriented when he woke up. It was partially because the sleeping pills had knocked him out so completely he couldn't even remember dreaming. But he also had no idea just how long he had slept, and the room around him was startlingly different. He had fallen asleep in a room that was large and white, with blue curtains at the windows. The room he was in now was much smaller, with wood paneling and yellow curtains. He sat up, slightly dizzy, and looked around. Scott was still laying in his bed, the IV of fluids still dripping into him, though the bag was almost empty. His father was nowhere to be seen, and Scott was awake.

John pushed himself to his feet, stumbling at the awkward pull of gravity. He fumbled his way over to the empty chair beside the bed and flopped down into it. He took Scott's hand into his and squeezed it. "Scott." He cursed inwardly at his shaky voice, needing to be strong for his brother.

Slowly Scott's head turned to look at him. He looked like he was only half there, but a small smile tugged at his lips.

"Hey, Johnny." His voice was weak and dry.

"How are you feeling?" John swallowed a thick lump in his throat and wiped at the tears that were threatening to fall in relief that Scott was awake and seemed alright.

"Tired." Scott then looked away and closed his eyes. John didn't think he was asleep but didn't bother him again either. He just remained there holding his hand, praying his thanks to anyone who would listen.

"And when he saw her looking so lovely in her sleep, he could not turn away his eyes; and presently he stooped and kissed her, and she awaked and opened her eyes and looked very kindly on him."

"Why do you always say that?" John sighed and rolled his eyes as he looked over at his father who stood in the doorway.

"It was your favorite story, and the fact that you were a pain in the ass to wake up in the mornings." His father laughed and pulled up another chair, handing John a cup.

"You could always just say, 'morning, Sleeping Beauty,' like every other normal person."

"Nah, not as fun." Jeff smiled over at him.

"What is it?" John had one eye closed and was peering through the small hole in the top.

"Orange juice." Jeff shrugged. "Didn't think you'd want coffee."

John couldn't help but let a small smile escape as he took a sip of the cold, sweet juice. "Where are we?"

"They moved us up to the psych ward." His father frowned and looked at some invisible person outside of the room. "I was just talking with the doctor they assigned to Scott."

"Not a fan, I take it?"

"I've already put feelers out. As soon as I find another one, we're out of here."

"What did they do?"

His father leaned forward and put a hand on Scott's leg, shaking it a bit.

Scott opened his eyes and looked over at him. "Hey, Dad." He had a small smile on his face, but otherwise his tone was flat.

"Hey, son. Did you see John?"

"Hey, Johnny."

"Hey, Scott. I'm glad to see you awake."

"You sleep a lot." He smiled a little and then looked over at his father. "Dad. Johnny's here."

"I know."

"He's awake."

"I know."

"He was asleep."

"Yes, he was."

"Hey, Johnny."

"Hey." John frowned and turned to his father.

"Are you looking at the stars again? You're always looking at the stars."

"Yeah." Jeff frowned and then squeezed Scott's leg again. "Go to sleep, son."

"Okay." Scott closed his eyes, but John still didn't think he was asleep.

"Okay, a few questions. How long was I asleep? Am I still asleep? And if the answer to that second question in no, what the hell are they giving him?" John could feel his pulse pick up, his worn and space tired muscles shaking as anger swept through him.

"You were asleep for eighteen hours. Had to bring you up in a wheelchair." His father smiled a little at him. "We got here before Scott and they thought you were the patient."

"So, I really am awake." The joke went straight over John's head. His eyes bored into his father for answers.

"Afraid so. I was just out talking to the doctor trying to find out what they did give to him." Jeff rubbed his face with his hand as he leaned back in the chair. "Kept telling me that it was something to help relax him and to keep his anxiety in check. Talked to me like I was an idiot."

"You're his father, you have every right to know what medication they have him on." John's knee was bouncing again, and this time it wasn't due to caffeine.

"I know. That's what I told him. He just smiled at me and told me to trust him."

"That alone makes me not want to."

"Same here. I told him that they were not to give him any more medicine."

"I have the feeling they may not comply with that." John sat back in his chair and took a few deep breaths. It wouldn't do for both of them to be riled up at the moment.

"Agreed. We are not to leave him alone."

"Evening, gentlemen. I'm glad to see you finally woke up." A nurse popped into the room with a large smile on her face, but both men could tell that it was a fake one. "I'm afraid visiting hours are over. I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

"This hospital doesn't have visiting hours," Jeff replied curtly.

"This unit works a little differently. Because of the delicate nature of our patients, it is best to have a set schedule. So unlike the rest of the hospital, we have visiting hours. They are now over, so I need to ask you to leave."

John could see what little patience his father had left was quickly dissipating and decided to jump in—before he was forced to hold his father back from maiming the sickly sweet woman. "How about a deal. You tell us what meds you have my brother on and we will leave."

Her smile disappeared as she glared at them and then left the room.

"John, what are you doing?" Jeff glared over at his son but could see the gears working.

"If we can get the medication, then we can look it up and learn more about it. We'll have more in our own arsenal when we go up against that doctor again."

"I don't want to leave him."

"I know. However, I imagine we either make a scene and get thrown out anyways or leave of our own accord with some needed information."

"I would have gotten it eventually."

"Lawyers take time."

"Very well." The nurse was back, her smile long forgotten as she held out a sheet of paper. "This is everything he has been given since he stepped into the hospital doors. Now, please, leave."

Jeff stood, took three large steps over to the woman, and snatched the paper from her. "If I find that you have lied by even one milligram on here, I will have my lawyers on not just this hospital but you personally."

She seemed taken aback by the threat, but Jeff didn't wait for her reply and stormed out of the room. John followed a little slower and still quite unsteadily.

John was sitting at the desk in the living area of the hotel suite. He had the printed out report of Scott's medication sitting next to him, his father's laptop in front of him. His father, upon arriving, had left again, presumably to hit the hotel's bar for a few drinks. He couldn't blame him, and if he didn't already look drunk, he would probably would have joined him. Instead, he was on the computer looking up the information on the drugs.

When they had first arrived, Scott was still acting out against anyone who tried to touch him. They had told him that they needed to give him something to calm him down and had handed John a small white pill. That had been the first drug given, Ativan, a type of drug called a benzodiazepine used to treat anxiety. Well, he had only given him the one pill, and Scott was freaking out quite a bit. So he would give them that one.

Once they were able to actually do a physical, they put in an IV and started him on some fluids. Saline solution, that's pretty normal too. They did not give him anything for the rest of the day, awaiting all test results.

Once he was moved up to the psych ward, however, they decided to start him off with some Xanax. It was another benzodiazepine. Scott's first dose was 1.5mg. A second dose of 1.5mg was given eight hours later. Then they gave him Zoloft, an antidepressant. His first dose was 25mg and then they gave it to him again twelve hours later, another 25mg. After eight hours on in the unit, they gave him Seroquel, an antipsychotic drug because they thought he was hallucinating. He was given a dose of 150mg.

John had a drug website pulled up and looked up each drug as it had been given, and each one made him even more upset. According to that website, every dose they had given Scott was more than what it said the initial dose should be and more than what normal dosage would be on average. He wasn't a doctor, but there were plenty of bells ringing from what he could see.

The door popped open as his father slowly made his way across the threshold. He had been drinking, John could smell the alcohol from where he sat. It took a lot to make the owner/CEO/president of Tracy Industries drink that like. The only other time John could remember was when their mother died.

Scott had disappeared for almost a week after the news of their mother's death. He had been dragged out for the funeral, but even then he had hidden. Grandma Tracy had found him in a closet in the funeral home and had to drag him to the cemetery. Once they were back home, he disappeared yet again. Grandma Tracy was there to help for a few days, but their father had sent her home, thinking they would do fine without her.

However, without Scott or their grandma around, John was left to look after the kids.

oOo

"Gordon, stop it!" John had Alan on his hip, the one-year-old almost a third of his size already. "Gordon, I'm going to take your cereal away."

"NO! NO!" Gordon yelled as he threw more of it at John.

"Virgil, come here and play with Alan."

"I want to paint." Virgil was busy rummaging in the desk drawer for something to draw with.

"You can't paint right now. I need you to watch Alan." John walked over to Virgil while still trying to balance Alan on his hip, pulling Virgil away from the desk. This only caused Virgil to start crying.

"I wanna paint!"

Which in turned caused Gordon to cry.

"NO! NO! NO!"

Which in turn caused Alan to cry.

"Whaaa!"

Which in turn caused John to cry.

"What the hell is going on in here!" Jeff had appeared in the doorway to his study, his shirt a wrinkled mess, his tie half hanging off of him, and a glass of Scotch in his hand.

"Daddy!" John stumbled over to his father, hoping for some help. Jeff just looked down at him in shock and confusion. "Gordo won't stop throwing stuff. Virg wants to paint but I don't know where the stuff is, and Allie is hungry."

Jeff Tracy was usually a patient man with his sons. He usually looked at them with kindness and treated them likewise. However, Jeff Tracy had been drinking since the night before.

"Dammit, can't you brats do anything yourself?"

John backed up a step, suddenly afraid of the man before him.

"Give him here." Jeff reached down and grabbed Alan from John's grasp and walked into the kitchen. He slammed down his glass on the counter and strapped the crying baby in his highchair. He slammed a cabinet open, pulled out a small cup, tore off the foil top, and slammed it down on Alan's tray, causing the applesauce within to splatter a bit. Then he jerked open the refrigerator, pulled out the carton of milk, and filled a bottle, slamming it down on the tray as well. "Is that all?"

John was cowering behind the wall that led to the kitchen. "Virgil's paints."

"I don't know where the hell his paints are. He can deal with it."

John nodded, and satisfied, Jeff disappeared back into his study. Gordon and Virgil had stopped yelling and were throwing cereal back and forth at each other, so John took the opportunity to find Scott.

"Scotty." He opened the door to Scott's room, but it looked empty. John knew better though, and crawled into the closet sitting, with his knees against his older brother's.

"What do you want?"

"I'm scared."

"You sthcared? That'sth a laugh."

"Daddy was yelling at us. I didn't know what to do, so I asked him and he yelled at me."

"What?" Scott moved a robe to the side so he could see John better.

"Allie and Gordo and Virg were crying and Daddy came out and yelled at us. He took Allie and gave him food and then yelled again."

"Came out of where? Isthn't he with you guys?"

"No." John shook his head making his hair whip around his face. "He's in his sturdy."

"Sthudy, dolt." Scott eyed him for a moment, but John had never been a good liar. It was after that day that Scott had taken over, and John had started to worship his older brother.

oOo

John snapped the laptop shut—a little harder than was necessary—and stood to help his father to bed. Jeff pushed him away, but John would not retreat. He wasn't that scared six-year-old anymore. He took him gently by the arm and loosened his tie, unbuttoning the first few on his shirt as he led him down the hall to his bedroom. He unmade his bed and took off his belt before he pushed him down. Then he kneeled down and took off his shoes.

"Those doctors don't know who they're dealing with!" Jeff was staring at John with a glazed-over expression.

"No, they don't." John nodded in agreement as he pulled off his father's socks and lifted his feet into the bed.

"When I get through with them, they'll be lucky to still have their licenses!"

"Absolutely." John nodded again, keeping his voice low and even, even though he knew his face was flushed in anger at those who would cause his father to get into this state.

"That bastard will be lucky I don't punch him in the face when I see him next."

"That won't help anything."

"It'll make me feel better."

"But it won't help Scott."

"Scott." Jeff frowned, his anger suddenly gone. "I couldn't bear losing one of you boys. I couldn't do it."

"We're all here. Safe. I promise."

"Scott…"

John pushed his father down onto the bed and pulled the covers up. "Go to sleep, Dad. You'll feel worse in the morning. I promise."

"Why?" Jeff mumbled as he rolled over and fell asleep.

John would tell him his findings in the morning.

When they arrived at the hospital the next day—during the scheduled visiting hours—they found Scott awake and sitting in the chair, looking out the window.

"Hey, Scotty." John smiled as he reached over to ruffle his hair. "How are you feeling?"

"Tired."

"Scott." Jeff sat down on the arm of the couch and faced him. "Do you remember what happened?"

"I'm just tired." Scott sighed and looked back out the window. "Hey, Johnny. Look, Dad, it's Johnny." John and Jeff looked a little shocked at Scott. He wasn't pointing to John, but to John's reflection. "Funny how he's outside and not in here."

"Scott." John knelt down and laid his hand on Scott's leg. "Are you okay?"

"I'm tired. Can I sleep?"

"Sure, Scotty. Sleep all you want." John looked over at his father, who was quickly turning red from anger.

Jeff stood and stormed out of the room.

John took his chair and leaned over to Scott. "Hey, Scott. I'm over here."

"Hey, Johnny. How did you get here so fast? Did you come through the window?"

"No. I came up the stairs." John's leg started to bounce once again as he hands tightened on Scott's knees.

"Good. Good. Safer that way." Scott was nodding but looked as if he were already half-asleep.

"Scott, what are you doing?"

"Looking at the stars. You like looking at the stars, don't you?"

"I love it."

"Join me, then. You can show me where things are. I can never remember."

"Scott, the stars aren't out." John licked his lips as he leaned over to look Scott in the eyes. His eyes were open, but there was no life in them, just dull and faded.

"Sure they are. You're only up at night so they must be out." He wasn't smiling, just stating a fact.

John frowned at his brother. He was about to respond to this when his father's voice suddenly exploded from the hallway.

"I can take my son out of this damn place if I want to."

"I'm sorry, sir, but you are not his POA."

"I am his father!"

"That does not give you the right to decide what is best for him."

"And just who gets to decide that, Scott?"

"If he were able to, yes."

"How the hell is he able to when you have him drugged up so much he can barely think!"

"We have given him drugs to relax him and calm him down. Only what he needs to function."

"He is not functioning! He can barely stand!"

"That is just a side-effect of the drug. Once we think he is no longer a risk to himself, we will wean him off."

"How the hell are you supposed to tell when he can't even think for himself!"

"We have our methods."

"I do not agree with your methods!" Jeff stormed into the room and slammed the door.

"Dad?" John's eyes were wide as he stood, his hands in fists at his sides.

"No one is to touch Scott. Neither of us are leaving again until we can take him with us."

John wasn't able to get another word out before his father was on his phone, yelling at his personal assistant on the other end. He felt sorry for the young man. He hadn't been his PA for more than three months, his predecessor having retired just before then.

John sat down on the floor with his back to the window, leaning up against Scott's leg, wanting to be as close to his brother as he could, his core shaking from anger and fear and the unknown. He could feel Scott reach down and run his fingers through his hair.

"You have soft hair," Scott murmured as he continued to gaze at the stars that weren't there.

John leaned into it, letting the touch of his brother calm him down.


	7. A Starless Night

Chapter 7: A Starless Night

John stood and took his tumbler to the dispenser to refill it. "Do you want more?"

Scott lifted his own cup, sloshing it around but then shook his head. "Nah."

John shrugged and sat down again to continue, but the beeping of an incoming comm signal stopped him.

"This is Thunderbird 5."

"John. Alan and Gordon are driving me crazy." It was Virgil, and he sounded like he was in a small enclosed space. "They know Scott is home and are freaking out because they can't find him. They tried to call you, but you apparently have blocked all calls from them."

"I said I didn't want to be interrupted." John raised his eyebrows at Scott and allowed himself a small grin.

"John. I am hiding in the pantry. I have to have something to tell them."

"Tell them we're having a meeting of upper management."

"Wait, I'm not part of upper management?"

"No, you're the middle child, so you're middle management."

There was silence over the comm. John couldn't help but smile wider at the imagined look on Virgil's face.

"John."

John sighed and looked over at Scott.

"Go ahead." Scott shrugged his shoulders in defeat.

John raised his eyebrows at Scott to be sure, but with another nod from the elder, he cleared his throat, his smile faded, and he gave the truth to Virgil. "They made Scott tell them about Afghanistan in the meeting today. So he's, understandably, a bit upset."

"Those dirty bastards!" Virgil punched something nearby and they could hear the crash of glass. "Crap, there went the pasta sauce."

John caught the small grin that appeared on Scott's face and returned it.

"Alright, I'll let the evil twins know. Though it will either rile them up, or calm them down. Not sure which."

"We'll leave it in your capable hands."

Virgil grunted in acknowledgment and closed the comm signal.

"Right, so where were we?"

"I was drugged out of my mind, apparently." Scott sighed as he rubbed his eyes and looked back to the Earth as it once again passed by them.

"Are you sure you want me to keep going?" John looked straight at him, trying make eye contact.

"Yeah. I need to know." Scott nodded and then took a deep breath before looking back and meeting John's eyes.

The sun traveled across the sky as Scott continued to look at his stars. John stayed on the floor, Scott's hands still in his hair, as he watched his father though half-closed eyes. Every time someone tried to enter the room, Jeff was there to force them out. Several nurses tried to come and check Scott's vitals but never made it past the bed. The doctor was there, but he barely avoided being hit and backed away quickly. By the time the security guards had arrived, his father was standing in the doorway with his arms crossed.

John straightened up a bit when they showed up. He was still next to Scott, his hand still in his hair, but his heart had picked up its pace.

They threatened Jeff with their taser guns, but Jeff would not stand down.

John was trying to prepare himself to witness his father's convulsing body on the ground when their savior finally showed up.

"One moment. Let me talk to him, please. We'll have this straightened out." He had talked the guards down and easily pushed Jeff into the room, shutting the door behind him.

"Thank God you're here. George, you have to talk some sense into them."

"Ow!" John was in shock for a moment and then started to yell in pain. "Ow! Scott! Let go! Dad! Help!"

Scott had grabbed John's hair in a tight fist and was pulling on it, hard.

"Scott." Jeff was next to him, one hand on his shoulder, the other on the hand in John's hair, trying to loosen his fingers a little. "Scott, look at me."

Scott's eyes had grown wide but slowly they looked over at his father and closed them—it almost looked as if he had gone to sleep, but slowly they opened again, and he smiled. His hand loosened from John's hair. "Hi, Dad. Where's Johnny?"

John had scooted away as soon as he could, a couple of painful tears running down his face as he rubbed at his scalp. His cheeks were red and it felt like his heart was going to escape from his chest at any moment. He looked over at Scott's hand—there were quite a few red hairs still in it.

"He's here. Just over there."

"Hey, Johnny. Why aren't you looking at the stars?"

John didn't reply, he just pulled his knees to his chest and watched his brother. He was worried about the drastic shift in his brother's emotions and what had caused it. Scott had never pulled his hair, that just wasn't something any of his brothers had done.

"Scotty, I need you to go to sleep."

"Okay, Dad." Scott then closed his eyes but did not sleep.

"See what I mean?" Jeff had stood and turned back toward the man. "He's been drugged into numbness. Has no idea what is going on. George, you have to help!"

"Dad!" John had jumped to his feet and was staring down at Scott, though keeping his back to the wall, his hand unconsciously going to his scalp that was still throbbing.

Scott was sitting in his chair, his eyes wide and his hands grabbing the arms so hard they were shaking from the force of it.

"What happened?" Jeff was down next to Scott again, soothing him, talking to him.

"I think it was when you called Mr. Davis' name." John looked over at the lawyer—one of his Dad's oldest friends.

"I haven't seen Scott in years." Mr. Davis frowned.

"Scott." John hesitated for a moment but then kneeled down in front of Scott, his hands on top of Scott's. "Who is George?"

"He's dead." Scott spit out the words, his hands shaking even more under John's.

"Who was he?" John corrected.

"C… Captain Heinz."

"Heinz… I don't remember a Heinz. Wasn't his commanding officer, was it?" John was trying his best not to shake himself, trying to send calming waves to his brother.

"No, his commanding officer was a Captain Barns, I believe." Jeff kept his hand on Scott's shoulder, ready to act should Scott do something unexpected.

Scott shook his head and looked down. "C… Captain Barns' spotter…"

Understanding shot through the both of them. They knew Scott had been shot down. Knew that there had been two planes shot down. Knew that three had returned: Scott, Captain Bradley Barns, and a missing GDF soldier. That was all that they had been told. However, in all the unknown, they could see some facts for themselves. Each plane had one pilot and one spotter/navigator. Only two of the four had returned. Because of this, they had known that Paul Rand—Scott's best friend—had died. Now they knew the identity of the other one, George Heinz.

"Alright, Scotty. It's alright. You're safe." Jeff patted at Scott's hair, smoothing it down.

Slowly his hands relaxed and he leaned his head onto the glass of the window.

Jeff moved away from Scott, taking Mr. Davis off to the side. "Geor… Davis. Tell me you brought good news."

"I brought news, but I'm sure you're not going to like it."

"Out with it, then."

"The fact is, you are not Scott's POA. Without his POA here, there is nothing you can do. Scott is stuck here."

"Who the hell is his POA?" John stood, kept a hand on Scott's, but he couldn't stop them from shaking. If their father wasn't his POA, who had Scott chosen?

"Virgil." Jeff sighed. "Out of all six of us—seven including Grandma Tracy—Virgil is the most level-headed. So Scott had decided to make him his POA, knowing he would be sure to make the right decision without being overly blinded by emotion."

"Well, get his ass here and everything is solved."

"Not that simple. He's off the grid at the moment."

"Off the what? Why?" John took a step from Scott but glanced back a few times to make sure he was still calm and looking out of the window.

"He's scouting out islands for me."

"Islands? What the hell for?" John's head snapped back to his father, and he took the few steps so that they were even with each other.

"Not now, we don't have time for explanations. The fact is, he is not available."

"Well, since that is the case we might be able to get a judge to change his POA."

"Right, we'll do that. Make me his POA."

"That may not be a good idea."

"And why not?" Jeff puffed up his chest, challenging the lawyer.

"The man who has conveniently made his POA unavailable, and has physically threatened not only his doctor but several nurses, as well as lock himself in the room with the patient? Yeah, sorry, Jeff, a judge isn't going to touch that."

"Then how about me?" John held his breath as he straightened up and met eyes with the old lawyer.

"Hmm… well, have you done any of the aforementioned things?"

"I bargained for his list of meds to keep Dad from attacking the nurse last night."

"They gave you a list of his meds?"

"Yeah. Which I suddenly realize that they should not have done." John frowned and looked between his father and Mr. Davis. "You could use that, couldn't you?"

"I can." Mr. Davis nodded. "Alright. We'll try and get John as his POA."

"How long is that going to take?" Jeff had started to pace again, glancing over at Scott on every turn.

"A few days at least."

"What are we going to do till then?"

"I'm afraid you are going to have to go to your hotel room and wait."

"What the hell?" Jeff stopped and threw his hands in the air, ready to argue.

Mr. Davis reached up and pulled Jeff's hands back down to his sides. "Jeff. Right now, neither of you have any authority over what happens to Scott. To get a judge to allow the change of POA, we're going to have to show him that you are willing to abide by the law as it stands right now. I know it's not what you wanted to hear, but that is how it is."

John could tell his father was consciously debating whether or not to punch one of his friends or not. He was worried about Scott, he didn't want to leave him, but he had to step back and figure out what was best. "Dad, let's do what Mr. Davis says. Keep looking for a doctor, and as soon as he can get the POA changed, we'll get Scott out of here."

"Listen to your boy, Jeff. Otherwise you could end up and jail and Scott is here until Virgil comes back."

"Jeff Tracy in jail." John raised his voice a bit to make sure his father heard. "The press would go crazy over that and it wouldn't take them long to find out about Scott." John pulled on his father's arm, trying to make him see sense. "Do you want Scott's situation to become the newest gossip sensation? Do you want Gordon and Alan to find out about Scott like that?"

"No, of course not," Jeff grumbled, acknowledging the wisdom in John's words, and let his shoulders sagged. "Can we come and visit him?"

"I don't think that would be wise at the moment. I'll see if Joyce can come and check on him, give you a daily report."

"I'd hate to drag your wife into this."

"She's always adored your boys. She won't mind."

"Alright." Jeff ran his hands roughly through his hair. "Let me just say goodbye."

Mr. Davis nodded and Jeff turned, kneeling down next to Scott.

"Hey, Dad." Scott was looking at them again, playing with some of John's hair he had pulled out.

"Hey, Scotty. Johnny and I have to leave for a bit. Okay?"

"Johnny's here. Did you see Johnny?"

"We'll be gone for a bit, but Aunt Joyce will be by to see you. You remember Aunt Joyce, right?"

"Hi, Dad."

Jeff held Scott's face between his hands and laid his forehead on Scotts'. "I love you, son, if you can understand anything, please, understand that." He then lifted his head and kissed Scott's forehead before turning away.

"Hey, Scotty." John sat on the arm of the couch and laid his hands on top of Scott's once again.

"Johnny!"

"Be strong, alright, Scotty?"

"Will you look at the stars with me?"

"Not tonight, Scotty. But soon. I promise." John had to take some deep breaths to keep himself from breaking down in front of his brother.

"Okay." Scott nodded and then turned to look out the window again.

John stood up, leaned over, and kissed his brother on the forehead and then joined his dad at the door. Mr. Davis ushered them out, and they left peacefully.

John sat in his normal place at the desk with his father's laptop open before him. He was doing as much research as he could into the drugs they were giving Scott. He was even finding message boards for the doctors and distributors of the drugs to see what they said about them. A couple of times, he even pretended to be a doctor himself so he could see what their reactions would be to the doses Scott had been given.

What he found out did not help ease his worry at all. The two reasons he found as to why some doctors gave their patients slightly higher doses was to keep them calm or because of high resistance due to previous drug addictions. Scott had never taken anything stronger than a tylenol in his entire life. So the only reason he could see as to why his doctor was dosing him high was to keep him oblivious and make his own job easier. John wished he could scout some of the doctors that argued against this practice, but the message board was anonymous.

"How are you coming along, Dad?" John shut the computer and sighed, rubbing his eyes in frustration of not being able to do anything with everything he was learning.

Jeff Tracy was pacing around the room as he talked on the phone. He had just hung up after another disappointing attempt to reach one of the few doctors he had deemed worthy to look after his son. "They're all too damn busy. Can't get an appointment for at least three months!"

"Isn't there anyone else you can call?"

"I have others looking as well, but… damn, I don't know what we're going to do if we can't find anyone."

John stood and met his father in the middle of the room. "Don't worry, you'll find someone."

Jeff pulled his son into a hug, surprising him for a moment, and buried his face in his hair. "Thank you."

"For what?" John was holding him just as tight, taking in the smell of his father—a mix of Scotch and Old Spice.

"For anything I forgot to thank you for, for anything I will forget to thank you for, but mostly for being there when Scott needed you the most, and being there for me when I needed you the most."

"We're family. You taught us to be there for each other."

"And I couldn't be prouder."

The sound of the doorbell echoed through the suite, causing the two men to separate with embarrassed smiles. Jeff walked over to the door, rubbing his nose, and opened it to the person on the other side. "Joyce, I wasn't expecting you so soon."

The woman on the other side of the door was tall and thin, her graying black hair was in a short bob, and she wore a worried look on her face. "They have strict visitation restrictions on Scott." She sighed as she walked past Jeff and into the suite. "John, come here and give me some hugs."

John was a little embarrassed but obeyed. "How was Scott doing, Aunt Joyce?"

She sighed again as she let John go and looked between the two. "I wish I could say he was looking good, but I doubt he looked much different than when George was there yesterday. He just sat in his chair by the window looking out into space. And I mean space, kept saying he was looking at the stars, waiting for John to come home and show him the constellations."

"He was doing that yesterday." John sighed, rubbing his face.

"But it was the middle of the day."

"I know."

"George said he was being overdosed, but I just couldn't believe it until I had seen it." She turned to look at Jeff and put a hand on his arm. "He wanted me to tell you that he has an appointment with a judge tomorrow. Hopefully they'll get something done by the end of the day."

"I hope."

"Don't worry, Jeff. Things will work out. I'm sure of it."

"I know." Jeff reached over and patted her hand. "It's just hard to believe that at the moment."

The silence that had fallen over the small group was broken when the phone in Jeff's hand started to ring. He pulled away from his friend as he answered the call.

"Hugh, please tell me you have something. Yeah? Hmm. Are you sure? A researcher? Not a practicing physician? Will she come here, though? I'm afraid to move Scott too much. She will? That's good news. Finally. Oh, yes, I've been meaning to talk to her as well. She will be most welcome. Yes. Yes. Alright. Thank you, old friend. I can't thank you enough. Bye."

"Dad?" John watched his father as his face transformed and some hope flittered across it.

"Found one," Jeff announced as he ended the call. "She's not a practicing doctor, but researches the effects and treatment of PTSD. Apparently top in her field."

"Great. Is she coming here, then?"

"Not here. We'll met her in San Francisco once we get Scott out of that asylum."

All three were smiling, the hope catching on among them. Jeff pulled out a bottle of Scotch from the suite's bar and poured them each a dram. A toast, they were just one step closer to helping Scott come back to them once more.

Four days. It took George Davis four days to get Scott's POA changed to John. The judge he had went to had been hesitant to touch the case—psych cases were always complicated and messy, but after arguing with him, the judge relented and looked over the file. At first, the judge was willing to give POA to someone outside of the family, a neutral third party, but Mr. Davis argued on John' behalf, and finally the judge gave in.

Scott now sat in a penthouse in San Francisco, in a chair by the window looking at his stars. Only this time it was night, but with the lights of the city, the sky was just as empty as it had been before. The doors to the balcony nearby were locked, the key hidden somewhere in Jeff's room. They weren't going to take any chances. Jeff and John sat on a couch nearby with their company, two ladies from England. One of the ladies, the younger one, was around the same age as Scott. She was Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward, the daughter of his friend Sir Hugh Creighton-Ward. The other was Doctor Amelia Holland.

"Lady Penelope. It has been far too long. How is your father doing?"

"Just fine, Mr. Tracy. He sends his regards."

"Great, great. Send mine back as well."

"I will be sure to do just that." Lady Penelope smiled as she glanced over at John. "And is this another of your sons?"

"Oh yes. I suppose it has been quite a long time since you saw each other. Before Alan was born, I think. This is my second eldest, John."

"Pleasure to meet you, Lady Penelope." John nodded his head in her direction, grateful they weren't standing and that he'd be required to shake her hand—or would he have to kiss it? He really didn't know what he was supposed to do around aristocracy and didn't have the time to look it up.

"You as well." Lady Penelope nodded her head in reply, a shy smile playing on her lips. "This is the doctor my father mentioned, Amelia Holland. She has published quite a few papers on the subject of PTSD."

"That is what your father said." Jeff nodded as he turned to face the doctor. "Please tell me about yourself."

"Well, I graduated from Cambridge with my undergraduate degree and my masters in Psychology. I then went to Harvard for medical school, completed my residency at Massachusetts General Hospital. Upon completing my obligations there, I returned to England and began practicing. I was asked to join a group of researchers in London soon after and began my research into PTSD, looking first at soldiers that had come back from some of the previous wars starting in the mid twentieth century and World War I. I just recently wrapped up some research with soldiers during the Great Conflict and have started seeing patients again concentrating on those suffering from PTSD."

"I see." Jeff nodded. "And what are your general beliefs as far as treatment?"

"It seems that the most common course of treatment for PTSD is to start giving them medicine. I don't think that is right. There are some cases where it has proven helpful, but in the long run, I think it does more harm than good. I think the biggest help lies with getting the story out of them and getting them to accept what has happened. They will never completely get over it, but once they accept what has happened, I have found that low dosage use of antidepressants will sometimes help in getting back into work and family. However, sometimes it is the family that causes the biggest hurdle in getting better. I find that if the family is ashamed of them, or trying to hide them away, they do more harm. Even if they are trying to do right by them."

"Are you suggesting that I'm trying to hide my son's condition?" Jeff frowned and his shields were suddenly raised.

"I am suggesting that secrets only hinder the healing process. You have five sons, I believe."

"I do." Jeff's brows lowered. It wasn't hard information to come by, but the fact that she was already prying into their lives alarmed him a little.

"Mr. Tracy. I am sure you have done just as much research on me as I have on you. I would suggest that the entire family be aware of what is going on with Scott. If he has his family's support, it can only help."

"No." John was looking down at his hands as he spoke. He was unsure about most things that were going on around him at the moment, but this was one thing he was sure Scott would agree with him on. "Scott wouldn't want them to know. At least not yet."

"We are not talking about what he would want. It is what is best for him."

"Still. I don't want them to know. Eventually, yes, but not right now. Gordon is only a few months into his year on the seabed, Alan is in his first semester of college, and Virgil is… well, I honestly don't know what Virgil is up to, but they don't need to know. They don't need any added stress to their lives right now."

"What about Christmas? Aren't they going to be curious about where Scott is? What are you going to do with him?"

"I don't know. We'll figure something out." His argument was weak, he knew. She had brought up some very good points, especially since—not just Christmas—but Thanksgiving was only a week away.

"Doctor Holland. I have to agree with my son on this one. We will tell the others only when we deem it necessary. If that changes your mind about helping us, I'm sorry."

"Oh, no. I said I would help you and I will. As long as you don't mind constantly fighting with me over this subject."

Jeff frowned but shook his head. "I don't think I'm in a position to argue too much about it. You are the only one we've been able to get to come out here."

"Yes, we can discuss the details of that later. May I go talk to Scott?"

"By all means."

Dr. Holland stood and walked gracefully over to where Scott sat. She kneeled down before him and gently laid a hand on his knee.

He jerked a little but slowly looked down at her.

"Scott. My name is Amelia."

"That's a pretty name."

"Thank you. Do you know what happened to you?"

"I'm tired."

"I see. Scott?"

"Hi!" Scott smiled down at her. "Who are you?"

She didn't sound exasperated or annoyed, but answered in the same pleasant voice. "My name is Amelia."

"Hi, Amelia."

"Who are you Scott?"

"I'm Scott. That's my dad. Hey, Johnny! You want to look at the stars? They're really pretty tonight."

The doctor patted his leg and stood. "Do you have a printout of his medications he received during his stay in the hospital?"

"Yes." John jumped to his feet and hurried over to the kitchen counter where the sheets of paper lay. He walked over to her and handed her the papers while he reached up and petted Scott's hair, trying to keep his hand busy so it wasn't obvious as to how anxious he was.

"And when did you take him from the hospital?"

"Just this afternoon. About six hour ago."

"I see." She was frowning at the pages in front of her as she read. Once she had reached the end, she lowered the list and frowned down at Scott.

"Is there something wrong?"

"There are a lot of things wrong, but that is why I'm here." She smiled a little as she looked up at John and then over at Jeff. "Things are only going to get worse as the night goes on."

"What do you mean?" Jeff stood and took a few steps toward her.

"While he was not on the medication very long—thankfully not long enough for his body to become dependent on it—we may still see some withdrawal symptoms." "What kind of symptoms?"

"Well, panic attacks, dizziness, fatigue, insomnia, loss of appetite, mood swings, nausea, or OCD. There is still a slight chance, because of the higher doses, he does have some dependency to the drugs we might see some more serious symptoms like confusion, delusions, hallucinations, thoughts of homicide, thoughts of suicide, or violence."

"That sounds like a lot of what we're dealing with right now." John looked down at Scott, who was smiling and humming to himself.

"No, what I'm talking about are extreme." She walked over to the balcony door and pulled on it. "Where is the key?"

"Hidden in my room."

"Hide it in your office at work. Get rid of any sort of knife. Actually, all utensils. You'll be ordering out from now on."

"That's going to get a bit expensive." Jeff frowned.

"I do not think it will break your wallet that easily." The doctor started walking around the apartment, inspecting various things. "The cords from the blinds and curtains need to be taken away or bound up tightly. Linen closets need to be locked. Medicine cabinets emptied. Keys left somewhere out of sight. Anything that could be used as a weapon against you or against himself needs to be locked away. Scott is not to be left alone. We'll have to get him through this detoxing before we can make any headway with the PTSD."

John and Jeff just stood and watched as she made her way around the room, following her as she pointed out to various things and gave instructions.

She had made a loop of the living area and turned to look at the two men. "You should be moving right now. According to these records, he was due another round of medicine an hour ago. In a couple more hours, we may start to see some symptoms."

John glanced over to Scott, still calm and carefree in his chair, and worried just how bad it was going to get.


	8. The Walls We Build

Chapter 8: The Walls We Build

John laid down a tray of food in front of Scott. It wasn't much, just one of his microwavable prefabricated meals he kept in the freezer. The type of food he ate every day. This time is was mashed potatoes, meatloaf, and mixed vegetables. Not bad but filling, and John was sure that Scott hadn't eaten at all during the day so he probably needed it. He sat down in front of his own tray—tenderloin, green beans, and a roll.

"Eat." John pointed his fork at Scott's tray as Scott just sat and stared at it.

"I'm not hungry." Scott picked up his fork and started poking at the meatloaf like he was expecting it to move.

"It's not that bad. Better than Grandma's cooking."

"You know, sometimes I think she does it on purpose."

"Why's that?" John took a bite of his vegetables.

"How could Dad have survived growing up on that?"

"He was used to it. Didn't know any better. At least until he met Mom."

"True."

"Also, why do you think he put so much spice in everything?"

"To cover up the taste."

"To cover up the taste." John smiled at Scott and got one back in return. They sat in silence for a bit, slowly eating their meals.

"Earlier, you said that Virgil might have some ideas. What did you mean by that?"

"Well, when he was finally back in civilization, he had several missed calls about you. He called Dad and was given an excuse, but I don't think he ever bought it."

"Ah. But he never asked."

"No. But that's just Virgil being Virgil. He knew you were being taken care of, so he didn't push the issue."

They continued to eat, not many words passing between them, but a lot was in the air around them. When John had cleaned his tray, he took it over to the disposal and scraped the remains off and stashed it in the dishwasher. He then looked over at Scott, who had only half finished his own meal. Sighing, he filled his tumbler up again with some water this time and sat down again.

"I'm done." Scott pushed his tray away and leaned on his hand.

"No, you're going to finish that."

"John."

"Scott."

They stared at each other for a moment before Scott pulled the tray back and poked at the meat some more.

"You eat. I'll talk."

Scott sighed but nodded.

* * *

Once they had Scott-proofed the apartment, Jeff had excused himself to go talk about some business with the young aristocrat before her return to England. They disappeared into his home office, leaving John alone with the doctor.

"I can see that you love your brother. Your father, however, seems a bit distant."

"He would love to be able to ignore his work and concentrate on Scott. But huge companies like his don't work like that."

"Isn't there someone he could delegate to?"

"Probably, but he's not someone that likes to do that. He would rather do it himself and make sure it's right the first time."

"Hmm." The doctor was still staring at the door which Jeff and Penelope had disappeared behind. "Your father was in the Air Force himself, colonel, I believe. And NASA as well. Has he ever told you stories about that time?"

"Not so much the Air Force. A lot of that time was during the Great Conflict. But we've heard a lot of stories from one of his best friends during his time in NASA. Uncle Lee. Captain Lee Taylor. He's a storyteller."

"I see. But nothing about what happened during the Great Conflict?"

"No, and we've never asked." John eyed the doctor with interest. She was still young, just slightly older than Scott, but sharp, and he could tell her brain was constantly going. "You're not going to pry into his past, are you?"

"No. Not unless he wants to. He looks as if he's found his way to cope—I imagine that has a lot to do with you and your brothers, and bringing out those memories now would only hurt that. However." She turned her back to the door and faced the elephant in the room. "I wonder if he sees some of himself in Scott."

"You mean seeing Scott like this reminds him of something that happened to him?" John frowned and ran his hand through his hair looking at the floor. "No. No, I doubt that is an issue. Not Dad."

"It's just a guess." She shrugged, wondering if the young man before her had been completely honest with her. "Regardless. I'm not here for your father. No, I'm here for Scott. Tell me, what do you know about the incident that led him to this?"

"Unfortunately, not much. The incident is still under investigation and the file top-secret." John sat on the back of the sofa, watching Scott, and told her what he knew about Afghanistan, as little as it was. He told her about the early morning call, his flight to Las Vegas, and what he had almost found. It had only taken minutes to tell, there was so much he didn't know, and he had to force himself not to clench his hands into fists as he spoke; instead, he crossed his arms to hide their shaking, trying not to show his anger at himself and at Scott to this woman, who was sure to be criticizing all of his body language.

She was very much the professional, though. She didn't comment, didn't reply, just listened and when it was done and John was taking slow, deep breaths to keep the tears, in she pulled out a white handkerchief and handed it to him.

"I have the feeling your father would say it's unmanly, but it's good to cry." She was next to him, leaning on the couch, watching Scott. She reached over and patted John's leg. A comforting energy seemed to seep into him, and he calmed down.

There was the scrape of a chair on the wooden floor, and they both looked up to see Scott standing. John went to go to him, but she kept her hand on his leg.

"Let him be. See what he does, but be prepared to intercede if necessary. We don't want to restrain him from the beginning, it's already going to be traumatic enough as it is."

Scott was looking around the apartment, looking on the shelves and in the closets, searching for something. He then made his way purposefully to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. They could hear as he scooted the few jars around that were inside—they hadn't had a chance to go to the store yet. Scott pulled something out and laid it on the counter. It as a round plastic container, but John couldn't tell what is was from where he stood behind the couch. Scott walked over to the corner where a metal bread box sat and pulled the lid open to empty contents. Frowning, Scott looked around the counter, but other than the container he had placed on it, it was empty. He turned and walked down and pulled out a drawer, which had recently been emptied. Scott's frown deepened and he picked up the tub and threw it against the wall in what John could only assume was frustration. Scott turned and opened the refrigerator, again staring into the empty depths.

"I think that's a clue that we need to order some dinner." John was watching Scott with a mix of worry and amusement. "Any suggestions?"

Dr. Holland walked over to the plastic tub Scott had thrown. "Something greasy and fatty."

"Really?" John frowned at her and then looked over at Scott, who was pulling everything out of the fridge—all five items.

"What is the first thing you eat when you get back to Earth?"

"Hamburger and fries."

"Exactly. When you're under a lot of stress, you want to eat something that's comforting." Dr. Holland smiled over at John and picked up the tub of butter Scott had thrown.

"Alright. Grease Boy's Burgers it is." John pulled out his phone and put in the order for delivery while he watched as Scott inspected the items he had pulled out of the refrigerator.

The food came in short order, and their father and Lady Penelope emerged from the office just in time to join them. John had ordered enough for everyone: two sloppy bacon burgers and three regular crispy cheese burgers all with extra large fries and Cokes. He figured they all deserved a little excess. Scott and their father were fans of the sloppy bacon burgers and dug into the huge burgers with gusto. Lady Penelope politely declined her burger, but delicately ate her fries one at a time so as not to be a completely rude guest. Dr. Holland ate about half of her burger and fries and pushed them over toward Scott, who finished them off as well as Penelope's burger after he had inhaled his own.

John finished his in his own time but sat and watched Scott put away all the food in front of him. Scott had never been the biggest eater of the bunch, that was Virgil and Gordon easily. Right now, he looked as if he hadn't eaten for weeks, and then John suddenly wondered if he hadn't. John had been so worried about Scott's mental health, he hadn't really looked at him physically. Now, though, he could see the weight he had lost over the past few months. It wasn't much, it would have taken many more months for it to have become glaringly obvious, but he was thinner in the face than what John remembered him being. The black circles under his eyes didn't help, and he noticed his hands shaking a bit as he shoved handfuls of fries into his mouth.

"Lady Penelope, are you going to be staying in America long, or will you be going back to England?" Dr. Holland had turned from her observations of Scott to the young aristocrat that sat between Jeff and John.

"I have a few other errands to run for my father, but then I shall be returning home after that." Lady Penelope laid down her half-empty fry box, which disappeared into Scott's hands within moments. "I have discussed your living arrangements with Mr. Tracy. There is an apartment for you a few floors down."

"That sounds acceptable. Thank you."

"Well, it is getting late, and I must make my way to my own hotel." Lady Penelope wiped her fingers off on a napkin and then stood to leave.

"Are you sure you don't want to stay a while longer, Penny?" Jeff stood as well and escorted her to the door.

"No, I do not want to be a burden when you have other things to take care of." She smiled warmly and glanced over at John and then at Scott.

"I do hope you will take into consideration the offer I explained to you."

"I will consider it and talk it over with my father. As soon as I have decided one way or the other, I will be in contact with you."

"I appreciate it. Thank you for coming all this way."

"It was my pleasure." She performed a small curtsey and then left. John watched as his father shut the door and turned to look at Scott. He was noticing all the things that John had as well, and his eyebrows drew together in concern. John sighed and reached over to start gathering the paper and trash to throw it away. The bag the food had come in was taken from his hand, and Dr. Holland finished cleaning the table.

"See if you can get Scott to bed. He's looking a little sleepy."

"I imagine he is, after eating all of that." John smiled a little and made his way to Scott's chair across from him. He laid a hand on Scott's shoulder, causing him to look up at John.

"Hey, Johnny."

"Hey, Scotty. You look tired."

"Just a little." Scott yawned and stretched his arms into the air.

"Come on, let's get you to bed." John took Scott's elbow and pulled him to his feet. He didn't fight it, but allowed him to lead him back to the bedroom they would share. He dug through the dresser, looking for something for Scott to sleep in, and pulled out a pair of cotton sleep pants with small airplanes on a cloudy blue background. He turned around and found Scott still standing but swaying a little where he stood.

He threw the pants on the bed and turned to his brother. "Arms up." He lifted Scott's t-shirt up over his head and threw it on the floor in the corner. He then unbuttoned and pulled down his jeans, telling him to step out of them. Scott did but tripped as well and fell face-first onto the bed. John sighed, and pulled the pants off, grabbing the sleep pants and pulling them on as far as he could. He then pulled Scott back to his feet and pulled them up the rest of the way. Finally dressed, he pushed Scott back down onto the bed and pulled off his socks. He tucked his brother under the covers and sat down next to him for a moment.

"Scotty?"

"Yeah, John?"

"Are you okay?" John was frowning down at him, his hands smoothing the sheets under his chin.

"I'm tired." Scott took a deep breath and sighed closing his eyes. "Johnny?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"I'm not sure." Scott was chewing on his lip. "I just feel like I need to thank you." A hand found its way out from under the blankets and squeezed John's.

His heart ached for his brother. "There's no need to thank me. I just wish you would have called sooner." John sniffed as tears started to run down his cheeks. He took his hand away from Scott's and started to comb his fingers through Scott's hair. Scott's eyes were heavy, and he was struggling to keep them open. John just sat there remembering the many times Scott had done the same to him.

oOo

It had been one year since their mother's death. Their father had arranged a small remembrance ceremony in her honor, family and friends came from all over the US to give their love and support to them. Their father was just starting up his company, he had been busy the past few months trying to find investors and working on some prototypes he would eventually like to develop one day. However, no matter how busy he got, he would always make time to say goodnight to his boys. He knew he had messed up, knew he could have lost them, and swore he would do right by them. It wasn't their fault their mother was gone, just like it wasn't his.

John was seven now, a year older, a year wiser, yet it wasn't any easier to think about his mother. Scott had woke him up early to help with the preparations. They had eaten breakfast and then helped get their siblings ready. Scott was in charge of Virgil, who stayed latched to Scott's side, while John had been responsible for Alan. Alan had no idea what was going on but was excited about all the people. He kept wanting to wander away, and John had to keep his hand firmly in his own or else he would disappear. Gordon was under the watchful gaze of their grandmother and gave her a run for her money. Eventually their father scooped up the young blond menace and put him on his shoulders to keep him out of trouble. They had to stay at the event hall the entire day. There wasn't anything to do, and Alan had eventually gotten away from John, who had to spend a couple of hours chasing him around before finally catching him—Alan thought it all a game. Alan, Gordon, Virgil, and even Scott all took naps in the middle of the day, but John couldn't sleep. He had never been comfortable around so many people, and he felt constantly on edge.

It was late when they finally returned home. Gordon was asleep in their father's arms, Alan in their grandma's. Scott took Virgil up to his room, and John was left to put himself to bed. He was slow making his way up the stairs, and when he got to his room, he stood in the middle, not sure what to do first. He wasn't sure how long he had stood there, but a hand on his head made him jump.

"You okay?" Scott asked as he looked down at him.

"I guess." John sighed and rubbed his eyes.

"You did good today. Dealing with all those people and taking care of Alan." Scott was busy unbuttoning John's shirt and pulling it off of him. He then pulled off his undershirt and his pants. He helped John step out of them and threw a pair of sleep shorts over to him. John slowly put them on and yawned. Scott pulled him over to his bed and pulled down the covers, lightly pushing John down into them and covered him up. Scott sat on the edge of the bed, like he would many times to come, and ran his fingers through John's red hair.

"Scotty?"

"Yeah?"

"Are we going to be okay?"

"What do you mean?"

"Without Mom. Are we going to be okay without her?"

Scott frowned at him and sniffed a little. "It's going to be hard, but yeah, I think we'll be okay."

"Alan isn't going to ever remember her. Gordon probably won't either."

"That's why we're here. To let them know about her. To tell them what kind of mom she was, and how much she loved every one of us."

"What about Dad?"

"Dad is gonna be busy. His new job is going to become huge!" Scott took his arms and spread them wide. "He never does anything less."

"Will he forget about us again?"

"No, I don't think he will. Grandma wouldn't let him anyways." Scott smiled as he started combing through his hair again.

"But what if—"

"If you ever get into trouble or are sad and don't know what to do, come find me. Okay?" Scott was looking down at his little brother, a smile still on his face while the tears continued to fall. "And if I ever need help, I'll come look for you."

"What about the others?"

"Then we will both go to their rescues. We are the oldest, after all."

"Yeah." John smiled a bit as his eyes started to become heavy and soon he fell asleep.

oOo

Dr. Holland waited almost two months before she sat Scott down to talk. The detoxing of his body wasn't the hell John had been afraid of. Partially because Scott didn't know what he wanted, or rather what his body wanted. He cried and yelled a lot. Demanded to know why everything hurt so much. There were moments when Scott was coherent, and those moments grew day by day. Unfortunately, he wouldn't speak during those moments. He would see John or their dad and then turn away and go in the other direction. He would lock himself in his room, and John even found him with a bottle of their father's finest Scotch—not even sure where he had dug that one up at, probably a hiding spot that even their father had forgotten about.

It was a Saturday when Dr. Holland finally sat Scott down on the couch next to her and started talking to him. She wouldn't allow John to sit in on the session, and their father willingly retreated to his office, shutting the door.

John stood in the hall, just out of sight. Just because he wasn't allowed in the room didn't mean he wasn't going to listen.

"Scott. My name is Dr. Holland."

"Doctor." Scott was acting more like himself—well, at least not crying or wandering aimlessly.

"Scott, do you know where you are?"

"One of Dad's penthouses. Not sure which one." He looked around the space at the wood and metal that was the style of any living space his father could manipulate.

"You're in San Francisco."

"Oh."

"You're not surprised?"

"He only has two. Here and in New York."

"I see. Do you remember how you got here?"

"No." Scott shook his head and looked down at his hands, picking at one of his fingernails.

"Have you wondered why you're not at Nellis?"

"Nellis?" He looked up at the doctor, his eyes still not perfectly clear.

"The Air Force base you're stationed at. Should you not be on duty?"

"It doesn't matter. I doubt anyone would realize I was gone. At least, not till my next round of classes in January."

"Scott, it is January."

"Then why am I here?" Scott started to look around, as if he expected something to happen.

"Because you're sick."

"What about my students?"

"Someone else is taking your classes right now. You've been excused from duty."

"I'm not being discharged, am I? I haven't done anything wrong!" Scott was half standing, still looking around, and John wondered if he was waiting for MPs to show up and take him away.

"No, you haven't. You're safe here." She laid a hand on Scott's leg and encouraged him to sit down again. "Do you remember calling your brother?"

"Which one?" Scott was messing with a loose string on the hem of his t-shirt as he spoke. "I haven't talked to Alan for a few weeks, Can't call Gordon, and Dad has Virgil running around with his head cut off."

"Like a chicken with its head cut off, you mean?"

"That's what I said."

Doctor Holland nodded. "I was talking about John."

"John's in space."

"Remember, Scott. It's January."

"I should be on base."

"You have been excused from duty."

"But why?"

"Scott, what is the last thing you remember?"

"Um…" Scott swallowed and rubbed the back of his neck. "I, uh… yeah." He nodded.

"You didn't answer my question, Scott. What is the last thing you remember?"

"I didn't?" Scott blinked, his eyes still a bit glazed over. "Oh, well, I was… umm… at home, I think. On base, my apartment."

"What were you doing at home?"

"I was… umm… drinking."

"Drinking what?"

"Scotch… no, water. I was drinking water."

"Really?" She raised an eyebrow.

John scooted a little closer to the corner, trying to get a better angle so he could see Scott through the mirror on the wall.

"No. Scotch. But I was being good." Scott was shaking his head, holding his hand up to keep her from interrupting. "I was bad at first. Drank too much, passed out. But I taught myself to be good. I just drank one glass at a time, never the whole bottle."

"That still sounds a little dangerous. How long did it take you to finish a bottle?"

"Two days, three at most." Scott was gesturing with his hands, holding up a two and then a three. He then looked down at his hands as if that didn't sound right. "But it wasn't the biggest bottle, one of the smaller ones." He then held his hands up to show her about what size he meant.

John frowned. It looked like Scott was picturing a fairly good-sized bottle.

"You would drink that much in two or three days? How often were you going to the liquor store?"

"Oh, just once a week. I would buy a few bottles at a time."

"Don't you think you were drinking a bit much?"

"No. It worked. I was able to work. Otherwise, I couldn't think."

"Why couldn't you think?"

"Because otherwise I would think about… no. No! I'm not thinking about that. I am not thinking about that!" Scott stood and started to pace around the living room, slamming his head into his hands.

"What don't you want to think about?"

He stopped and glared at the doctor. "You are not going to make me talk about it. I do not want to talk about it, let alone think about it!"

"Alright, you don't have to think about it yet."

"Yet? Yet? I don't ever want to think about it again." Scott was waving his arm in the air and taking bigger steps as he walked in circles around the room.

"How about we talk about something else."

"Like what?"

"Like the day you called your brother, John."

"John?" Scott stopped. His eyebrows knitted together, a frown on his face. "I haven't called John."

"You did. Just after he got back to Earth."

"I tried, but they extended his mission. Dad told me."

"Yes, and then you tried to call him the next week. Early in the morning." She paused as Scott stopped, his hands hanging along his sides, his mouth gaping open. "He was asleep, had only been asleep for a few hours when you called."

"I… I didn't mean to wake him. I thought it was later." Scott's eyes widened a little as he took a step back. "I told him not to worry. I was sorry, I woke him."

"Yes, but you did worry him. He tried to call back. You never answered. What were you doing?"

"No!" Scott had his head in his hands again and kicked at the chair that was in front of him, sending it a few feet into the coffee table. The vase on the coffee table fell over, and water spilled everywhere. Nobody moved to clean it up.

"John went to your apartment. Do you remember?"

Scott shook his head, his eyes still wide. He backed up so his back was against the far wall, as far as he could get from the doctor.

"He found you in your apartment, standing in front of the mirror. Do you remember what you were doing?" The doctor had stood and was making her way slowly across the room toward Scott.

"Stay away from me!" Scott was taking in ragged breaths, sliding along the wall, trying to stay away from the doctor.

"Do you know what you were doing?"

"I don't want to know! Just leave me alone!" He bolted, went for the front door, but it was locked. He turned the locked and pulled again. Still, it would not open. Then he noticed it. A padlock, they had him locked from the inside. He turned, his back on the door, and he glanced around for another escape. He ran to the patio doors and pulled on them. They wiggled and clattered together but refused to open.

"Scott. You have to acknowledge what happened to you. What you tried to do." The doctor was standing in the middle of the room, watching as Scott tried every door, opening even the closets to see if there was some secret way out of there.

"I don't… I couldn't… it wouldn't leave. I couldn't stop seeing it. I had to stop seeing it!"

"What couldn't you stop seeing?"

"The blood. I couldn't stop seeing the blood. Please, I don't want to see the blood anymore!" Scott had finally stopped and dropped to his knees. He was crying, bawling.

John closed his own eyes and clenched his shirt over his chest. He was taking deep breaths himself, trying to keep himself calm. It wouldn't do Scott any good if he broke down as well.

"Alright, Scott. You don't have to think about it. Everything is okay. You're safe." She walked over to him and tried to reach out, but he jerked and scrambled away from her. She sighed and straightened up. "John. You can come out now. Take care of your brother." She knew she would be the enemy. She always was at first, sometimes never winning her patients over even though they'd admit that she helped them.

John scrambled to his feet and took the half-dozen steps to reach his brother. He dropped to his knees and pulled him to him, holding him tight. "Do you have to push him this hard?"

"Repressed memories are the ones that come back and haunt us. For them to get filed away properly, they need to be acknowledged and accepted. Sometimes, that doesn't even work, but it does help." She shrugged and walked over to the door, fishing out the key for the padlock. "I'll be in my apartment if you need me. I probably won't be back for a few days, let him rest and do whatever he wants."

John nodded as he watched her back disappear behind the door. Scott was still clinging to him as John petted his head and whispered that everything would be okay.

John was woken up early the next day by the blaring noise of a radio turned all the way up. He slammed his pillow over his head, moaning at the sudden headache the noise was giving him. After a minute or so, as soon as he realized that the noise level had not been an accident, he threw off his covers and turned on the light.

The bed next to his lay empty, yet the stereo in the room was blasting some old country song about how much the singer loved his kid.

"Scott?" John called as he stumbled over to the sound controls and turned the music off. The amount of noise did not soften by much. Their radio was not the only one on. John pulled on a pair of pants and stumbled out into the hall. It was still early, barely five in the morning. Scott had calmed down after Doctor Holland had left but was nothing more than a zombie the rest of the day. They skipped lunch and ordered dinner from a Japanese restaurant, thinking that it would be difficult for Scott to do much harm with the chopsticks. Unfortunately, the fact that he could not break the chopsticks cleanly in half had caused a problem. After trying to break the small pile the restaurant had given them, their father had grabbed them and threw them away, declaring that they would eat with their fingers. And so they had.

John walked toward the living room, where most of the sound seemed to emanate from, but stumbled and cursed when something seemed to pierce the bottom of his foot. He lifted his foot and looked at it, feeling that there was something there, yet he couldn't see anything. He squinted in the dark hall and saw something sitting on the floor. Standing on his toes, he squatted down and picked up one half of a set of chopsticks and realized that he had a splinter in the bottom of his foot.

He hobbled to the bathroom and turned on the light, propping his foot on the sink and reaching into the medicine cabinet for the tweezers. It was light-colored wood, and it took a moment for him to find the small piece that seemed to hurt worse than the time he had accidentally cut his foot open on the reef they were exploring when they were kids on vacation in Hawaii.

He got the splinter out and threw it and the chopstick away before heading back to the noisy living room. Scott had thrown a few of the chopsticks the night before, and John had thought that had been one of them. However, just as he exited the hall, another chopstick hit him square between the eyes. He closed his eyes quickly enough but covered his face just in case and peered around the living room to see what was going on.

The music was still blasting, and the TV was on full volume as well. He wondered why his father hadn't made his way out yet but shrugged and made his way to the couch where he could see the back of Scott's head. He wasn't sitting on the couch but on the floor before it, the small stack of chopsticks next to him.

"Scott!" John yelled over the noise as he reached for the remote that controlled the main sound system.

Scott saw his outstretched hand and snatched the remote before John could reach it. "What?"

"Turn this off!"

"No!"

"Why?"

"I like it!"

John frowned as he took a moment to see just what Scott was doing. He had dug out the chopsticks from the trash and was doing something with them. John reached down and picked up one of the pieces of wood to examine it. Scott had smoothed down the jagged end that had not broken off correctly so that it was perfectly even with the rest of the wood.

"How did you—" John turned to Scott to see just how he was accomplishing this without any tools, except he was using a tool. "Scott, what is that?"

Scott frowned at him and sighed holding up the item he was using. It was a hinge, but from where?

John stood up and looked around. The cabinets in the living room were all intact, so he turned to the kitchen and finally noticed. All the cabinet doors had been ripped off and lay scattered on the floor. He walked over and looked at the various doors—a few of the hinges had been torn off, but others just would not budge, and the doors had been kicked so hard there were holes or partial holes in the middle of them.

"John! What is going on?"

John looked up and their father was standing just outside of the hallway, his hands over his ears. John was not in the mood to keep yelling so he turned to his father and started signing. 'Scott won't turn the sound down and destroyed the kitchen in order to get something to fix all the chopsticks with.'

Jeff, not missing a beat, reluctantly took his hands away and signed right back 'Did you try to take the remote away?'

'Yes, he sat on it.'

'Well, move him.'

'I'm really not in the mood to wrestle him for it.'

'Well, I'm getting a headache.'

'I am too. Can't we just unplug it?'

'It's hardwired into the wall. We'd have to cut the breaker.'

'Where's the breaker at?'

'I don't know.'

'That's not going to help.'

The room was suddenly silenced by the lack of noise. Scott stood up and glared between John and their father. "Will you stop signing over my head? I want the music on and it will stay on. If you don't like it, deal with it!" He then kicked the coffee table, forcing it to slide forward. "When the hell did you two even learn sign language?"

"I have an engineer who is deaf. John helped me learn so I could talk to him."

"Of course he did." Scott kicked at the table and this time sent it over onto its side. Jeff and John both winced, expecting the glass top to shatter, but it held firm. "John's a ****ing know it all."

"Watch your language!"

"Oh **** off."

John and Jeff both widened their eyes and took a step back.

Scott eyed them, daring them to continue their arguments, but John just raised his hands in defeat and made his way back through the living room to where his father stood.

'Got any earplugs?' John signed again as he reached their father.

"I said no more signing!" Scott clenched his hands and kicked the table again, causing it to flip once again onto its top. He then took his foot and slammed it down on the middle support, finally causing the glass top to shatter.

"Alright, son. We're just going into my office." Jeff held up his hands in surrender as well as they slid their way through the nearby door and to some safety.

As soon as the door was closed, the music and TV were turned on full volume once again. Jeff was at his desk, the phone in his hand, dialing a number.

"Doctor Holland, Jeff Tracy." He reached down and hit the speaker so that John could listen in.

"Is something wrong?"

"Probably? Unless you were expecting him to be a rage of anger today?"

"I figured he would be angry. What is he doing?"

"He's got music blaring and is destroying the living room."

"Is that all?"

"He's swearing up a storm. At least for him he is."

"He's upset. Probably didn't sleep good last night and is trying to keep the memories at bay. He was fighting them very hard yesterday. This will probably be a pattern you'll have to endure until he's able to open up a bit more."

"Is there anything we can do in the meantime?"

"Keep anything sharp out of his way, clean up everything he breaks, make sure he doesn't hurt himself, but otherwise let him do what he needs to."

"Do you think it might help if I can get him on a treadmill or in the pool?" John was leaning on the desk, his arms crossed in front of him.

"If you can get him to focus the anger, that would help, but don't get discouraged if it doesn't happen all the time. Each bout of rage can run its path a little different."

"Alright, We'll see what we can do." Jeff sighed, looking over at his son.

"Let me know what happens and if he changes tomorrow or not?"

"You mean this could last more than just a day?"

"I had one patient who would be mad for a week."

"I'm not sure I can deal with that."

"You're not alone, Dad. I'm here to help."

"Right. Thanks, doctor." Jeff hung up the phone and then looked at John. "You want cleaning duty or Scott duty?"

"I suppose I'll take Scott. Don't need you going into the office with a black eye or broken nose." John tried to smile at his father, but it faltered on his lips, and he sighed.

"Why don't you take him up to the pool and throw him in? Maybe the water will cool him down." Jeff walked over and laid a heavy hand on his shoulder before heading out the door and to his own task.

"John!"

John groaned as something shook him. He had been up late, finally settling down in bed around two in the morning. He had been able to convince Scott to go swimming, had found a pair of waterproof headphones so he could have his loud music, and Scott had swam for four hours. John wasn't sure where the energy had come from. Scott was much calmer afterwards but still a bit of a pain. He was glad when Scott had gone to bed early, but had found himself sitting in his own bed watching his brother sleep.

He cracked open his eyes and looked at the red numbers on the clock by his bed. Four in the morning. He had only been in bed for two hours.

"John, wake up!"

John knew the voice that was calling him, but it sounded wrong. Or rather, it sounded right. He pried his eyes open and looked at the figure standing above him. Scott was looking down at him—his hair was a mess, but he was wearing a sweatshirt and jogging pants.

"John!" he called again.

John sat up and shook his head. He looked back at Scott and blinked. He was wearing a sweatshirt and jogging pants. He also had a pair of white earbuds hanging around his neck and John could hear the loud music blasting out of them. "What's wrong?"

"Well, I got up and thought I'd go for a run, but the front door is locked. Like there is a padlock on the door." Scott was frowning down at him. "Why is there a padlock on the front door?"

"To keep us in." John threw the covers off and pulled his feet out of bed, yawning.

"Why?"

"Scott, do you know where you are?"

"Yeah, San Francisco. At least New York didn't look like that last time I was there, though that has been a while." Scott smiled as he pulled up the shades in the room, revealing the lights of the city not quite asleep and not quite awake.

"Do you know why you are here?"

"I…" He paused for a moment, his eyes fogging over before he shook his head. "Yeah, but hey, I want to go for a jog."

"We have a treadmill in the gym upstairs."

"I don't like using treadmills. They're not the same."

"Well, I'm afraid that's your only option."

"Why?"

"Because of what you did." John was trying not to yawn again. He was so tired, but Scott was… well, he was acting like Scott. John didn't know if this was good or bad.

"What I did?" Scott was looking at John like he was crazy. "I'm just on leave because I don't have any classes a the moment."

"That's the only reason?" John had his elbows on his knees and was leaning down on them.

"Otherwise I would still be on base." Scott tried to laugh, but it wasn't a very convincing one.

"Did you find more whisky?"

"No, why would I drink whisky at this time of the day?"

"Because you were pretty much drinking non-stop since you've been back."

"I—" Scott stopped short and took a step back.

"I know, Scott. You would drink one glass at a time, never the entire bottle." John recited the rule Scott had mentioned to see what the reaction was.

Scott's mouth was hanging open, but he closed it with a snap. "I'm going to run on the treadmill."

"Good idea. Wake me when it's time for lunch." John laid back in bed and was instantly asleep again.

When John finally woke up, it was almost noon and his stomach was growling in protest. He made his way to the kitchen grabbed a cereal bar and took a gulp of orange juice from the carton before he realized that Scott was not in the living room and that it was quiet. It was Monday, so their father would be at work, yet John did notice that the office door was open. Slowly he made his way to the door and listened.

"Okay, so why don't you just have the factory in Idaho make the part you need? They've got some good facilities, don't they?" Scott was sitting behind the desk, writing something down.

"Yes, but their warehouse isn't big enough. They're made for smaller parts." It was their father. "I'm going to have to split the part in two and then have it assembled in a separate location."

"Like where?"

"Well, where the main part is going to be shipped to. They can just do the final connections there."

"But splitting the part in two would weaken the structure overall. Is that okay?"

"That is true, but I'm not sure what else I can do."

"Why don't you help the Idaho facility build a bigger warehouse?"

"Huh, I suppose I could. Then they could work on some of these other large pieces I'm planning."

"Yeah, it would work for them and for you."

"Thanks, Scott. I'm glad you called."

"No problem."

"I'm glad you're sounding better as well."

"Yeah, about that."

"You still can't have the key."

Scott groaned as he let his head fall with a bang on the desk. "I don't get why I can't leave!"

"It's for your own safety. You know why."

"No. Honestly I don't know."

"Then think about it." Their father's voice had quickly gone from happy and upbeat to slow and sad. "Goodbye, Scott."

John could hear the click of the connection ended and walked away from the door.

"John! Finally awake!"

"I'm not letting you out."

"Is the key on you?"

"No."

"You're an awful liar."

"Doesn't matter. You're not getting it."

"I just want some fresh air!"

"We can go to the roof."

Scott leveled his gaze at John and then nodded. "If that is my only option. Let's go."

They spent the rest of the day lounging on the sundeck next to the pool talking about John's first mission in space. How it felt to blast off, leaving the Earth behind. What zero gravity really felt like, what space walks were like, and how his experiments were going. John admitted that even though he was on leave as well, they were already planning for him to go on another mission in a few months, but that John hadn't agreed to it yet.

It was a good day overall, and John felt uplifted that maybe by the next therapy session, something good might happen.

Unfortunately, that week would only serve as a template for the following weeks to come. After that first day of lucid thought, Scott started to get depressed again, and by the time his scheduled therapy came, he was once again depressed and avoiding John and their father again.

Doctor Holland sat with Scott again the next Saturday and tried to get him to remember what had happened in the apartment. However, it turned out the same as it had the week before. The next day, Scott was angry again, this time taking it out on the sofa and chairs, tearing their cushions to pieces before going upstairs and running twenty miles on the treadmill. Then he was Scott again and slowly fell back into his well of despair until the next week and the cycle started again.

For John, the hardest days weren't the angry Scott days. All he needed to do was stay out of his warpath and let him do what he needed to to cool down. It wasn't the slow progression back into depression that signaled the rest of the week either. For John, the hardest days were the days he had his therapy on. Those were the days in which Scott truly broke down and was nothing but raw emotion. Usually he would end up crying, unable to stop or to explain why. All John could do then was to watch him. Often he would just sit in the bed next to him and comb through his hair, trying his best to soothe him however he could.


	9. The Walls We Destory

Chapter 9: The Walls We Destroy

Scott's tray was empty in front of him. Slowly he had eaten everything on it as John had continued to tell his story. He was still pushing a random carrot around in the leftover juices of the meatloaf when John stood and took the tray away.

"I don't remember any of that. Even talking to Dad about the Idaho factory. None of it." Scott leaned back in the chair, looking up at the plain gray ceiling.

"Huh, we thought you were pretty with it on those days." John sat back down with a tumbler of water for Scott and a refilled one for himself as well. "Guess you were just pushing everything away, no matter what was happening."

"God, why did you let me get so bad?"

"We were trying, Scott. You were just as stubborn as you always were." John smiled a little. "When you thought you knew what was best, there was very little that could convince you otherwise."

"Just a hit to the head was all I needed."

"Yes, unfortunately, it wasn't your head."

* * *

It was the beginning of February. Three months since John had found Scott in his apartment with a gun in his mouth, and they still didn't know what had happened to him in Afghanistan. Scott still had his ups and downs. Most days, he seemed almost normal. He would talk with John about his mission to space, and to their dad about business. However, as soon as his life was brought up, his mood would darken, and he would often lock himself in his room to avoid the questions he knew were coming. During Doctor Holland's sessions, she would avoid the questions that would trigger his moods, always trying to find the back doors to the same answers. Scott was elusive, though, and always found a way to avoid them.

The most stressful days were usually after sessions with Dr. Holland that had gotten too close to the truth for Scott's comfort, which was pretty much every week. These days were signaled early in the mornings by loud music and the TV blaring. He would be in constant motion all day, not wanting to sit still for anything—he even walked around as he ate. He would exercise until he was exhausted and would fall asleep before he could get himself back to bed most of these days. He was also angry. John learned not to try and talk to him on these days or else he would be met with profanities that would have gotten them both a mouth full of soap from their grandma just for being in the same room.

It was mid-February, and Scott was in one of these angry moods. Dr. Holland had pushed especially hard on him the day before, trying to force him to remember what had happened. She usually made herself scarce the day after a session, and this day was no different. John had woken up with Scott and was keeping an eye on him, while wearing a pair of noise-cancelling headphones to deafen the sounds around him—they were lucky the apartment was sound-proof.

Their father was off to work—even though it was a Sunday—having been woken up four hours before his alarm due to the music on the other side of his wall. It was not surprising that their father had decided to go to work. He had made a habit of disappearing on certain days. At first, John had put it down to the amount of work that needed to be done. He was a busy man, and Tracy Industries was a large company—plus there was some huge project he was working on that he was being very secretive about. However, that didn't explain why he was going to work on Sunday.

"Dad?" John was standing in his father's office by the door, watching Scott's therapy session through a crack.

"Yes?" Jeff was sitting behind his desk, typing away at something on his computer.

"Are you ashamed of Scott?"

"What?" Jeff's tone of voice made John turn to look at him. "Why would you say something like that?"

"Because you disappear, a lot. I'm always here. I haven't been out of this apartment since we brought him here."

"Well, I have work. I can't just ignore the business."

"Even on Sundays?"

"I… well, it's Monday on the other side of the world."

"Not until eleven in the morning technically, and even then, they wouldn't be doing business until seven or eight in the evening."

"Well, I… It's just…"

"Dad. I've never asked. I don't think any of us have." John was looking through the crack again but turned to look at his father. "What happened during the Great Conflict?"

Jeff closed his laptop and sighed. "I hadn't ever planned to tell any of you boys what happened."

"I know, but I don't think it's helping that you're gone all the time." John glanced back at Scott and then to his father, meeting his eyes. "He asks about you, a lot. He thinks you're ashamed of him. I have nothing in which to counter that argument."

"I'm not ashamed of him. If anything, I'm ashamed of myself." Jeff stood and turned to look out of the window behind him. "I thought I had put it behind me. But seeing Scott like this has brought it back, raw and much too real for my liking."

"Have you ever told anyone?"

"Hm… your mother."

"Not even Uncle Lee?"

"He asked once, but I wasn't ready to tell and he never asked again." Jeff smiled a little and looked at John's reflection in the window. "He had his own ghosts."

"Then why did you tell Mom?"

"The nightmares."

"Nightmares?" John turned away from the door and took a few more steps into the room.

"That's usually what happened. Early on, I was mad a lot. Angry at anything and everything. I had actually taken a walk one night to try and cool my head when I decided to step into an all-night cafe for a drink—I was trying not to drink too much alcohol at that point, didn't help much. And that was when I met your mother." Jeff sighed and turned back to his son, sitting down in his chair again. "We started dating and my anger issues got better. I thought everything was getting better, but then the nightmares started."

John had been drawn in by his father's story, a story he had held so close to his heart that he was now finally letting out.

"I was just starting with NASA. We think that's what triggered it, the stress they were putting us through. But I would wake up thrashing in bed. Accidentally hit your mother a couple of times. She didn't blame me, but I sure did. Refused to sleep with her for a while. After about a month, she refused to go to bed until I told her what had happened. I got mad, tried to hit her, but she was fast when she wanted to be. I regretted it immediately and told her everything."

"And what was everything?" John was sitting down on the other side of the large desk, leaning forward.

"I was shot down. Much like Scott. Though my partner survived. I don't know if you remember him, you and Scott used to call him Uncle Rooster—though his call name was something else." Jeff coughed a little as John frowned, trying to remember. "You were both pretty small when he moved away, Virgil was only two or three. Anyways, we were shot down, both survived, but we were thick in enemy territory. Didn't last one night before getting captured."

"You were captured?" John was standing, his hands on the desk, leaning over his father.

"If you want this story, you will sit and listen." Jeff's voice was calm but stern.

John dropped back into his chair and mumbled an apology.

"We were captured, but they didn't take us away. We stayed there near the plane for a day. They had our hands and feet tied and made us sit on our knees. We weren't even allowed to lay on our sides, just on our knees. My feet were numb by the time the stars had come out. They had a couple of fires going so it wasn't completely dark, but that was what had probably saved us.

"One of our captors was swinging his gun at us, going on about something in his own language. He was pointing his gun at my head when… well, I don't remember the details myself. Rooster had told me afterwards. I guess the guy that had his gun to my head suddenly pitched to the side but pulled the trigger on his gun as he did. That shot got me in the arm—you remember that scar you boys were always asking about. A sniper had got him. I was on my side, my arm feeling like it had been blown off, and there were a lot more soldiers than there had been before.

"Soon, we were being hauled to our feet, though they quickly realized we couldn't walk, and then were basically carried away from the camp. They were French Special Forces. Once we were a good deal away from that camp, they laid us down and checked our legs. I could feel the blood rushing back into them, pins and needles doesn't quite explain it good enough. However, we were able to rest long enough for our legs to at least support us again. It took another day for us to reach the rendezvous point and to get out of there."

"How long were you gone for?"

"Officially, two days. Nowhere near as long as Scott."

"But still, not something to take lightly."

"No, not at all."

"Out of curiosity, then, which do you think is better? Learning to deal with it like you did, or opening up about it like the doctor is trying to do with Scott?"

"You know, I think she's got the right of it." Jeff leaned his head on his hand as he tapped the top of his laptop with his other hand. "You would think, with all the war this world has seen, that we would understand how to deal with the aftermath a little better."

John had a different view of his father after that day, and it seemed that the telling of his own experience had helped him in a way. He still couldn't deal so well with the angry Scott, but he wasn't staying as late during the week as he had and was helping out in the evenings a bit more. John had even gotten a couple of days off so he could go visit a local research laboratory to do some studying on some new images captured by one of the satellites traveling in deep space.

This day, though, John was sleepy—he had only gotten three hours of sleep and was trying to read a new book about some research he might be helping with on his next trip to space. It was interesting, but the words kept trying to blur together as he tried to keep his eyes open. He blinked a few times and closed the book, giving up on it for now. He took off the headphones and winced at the loudness around him. He looked around, but Scott wasn't in the living room.

Worried, John stood and checked the balcony doors. They were still firmly shut and locked. He checked in the kitchen, pantry, bedrooms, bathrooms, and all the closets. John had been facing the front door and knew he hadn't gone out of it—key was still safely in his pocket as well—but wasn't sure where else he could have gone. He was standing in the middle of the room trying to think of any other hiding places when suddenly his whole body shuddered and blackness suddenly consumed him.

He could hear voices, but they were distant. He could feel his body being shook, but his limbs were too heavy to move.

"John!" It was clearer now, it was his name. Someone was calling his name. "Come on, son. Wake up!" It was his father, he knew his father's voice.

Suddenly the pain found him. His head was throbbing and he could feel rather than hear the moan that escaped from his lips.

"That's it, just open your eyes for me."

John did, and his father was looking worriedly down at him. Someone else was nearby, and he felt a hot sting on his head and hissed with the pain.

"You're going to be alright. It was just a small bump to the head."

"Scott?" John moaned again as pressure was applied to the wound, causing his head to thump louder.

"We don't know." Jeff's voice was shaky, and his eyes darted around the apartment as if he hoped Scott would just suddenly appear and ease his worry.

John forced himself up and had to clench his eyes closed or else they felt as if they could pop out from the force of the throbbing behind them.

"John, take it easy. That's quite the bump you have. We should take you to the emergency room."

"There's no should about it. You go look for Scott. I'll make sure he get's taken care of." The doctor sounded close, but he couldn't tell where she was off hand.

"No, I want to go." John was trying to get his feet under him, but the floor kept tilting.

Jeff had his hand on John's arm and helped him to his feet. "No, you are going to the hospital."

"I know where to look." John was squinting, the lights were bright, though he was glad they had thought to turn all the noise off, the silence was loud enough as it was.

"Tell me." It was his father's demanding voice, one they usually didn't argue against.

John was not in the mood to deal with it, and he wanted to see Scott, he knew he needed to be the one to find him. "No. I'm going with or without you." John pulled his arm from his father's grasp and stumbled a few steps before it was back steadying him.

"You won't get far without me." Jeff's voice was gentler now, resigned that even his second eldest could be just as stubborn as he was at times.

"Mr. Tracy, he needs to go to the hospital." The doctor was behind them now, John's head was clearing a little.

"And he will, after we find Scott." They left the doctor behind and made their way out of the building.

John directed his father as to where to go, not disclosing the location should he change his mind and take him to the hospital. They parked in the lot of a park called the Coyote Point Recreational Area. John got out and blinked against the bright evening sun as his father joined him.

"This is a rather large park." He was glancing in every direction, looking for his wayward son.

"He told me about this place a while ago. There was a particular place he would go to in the evenings and nights when he was in town." John was steadier on his feet as he started off down one of the paths. They walked for some time, passing a few people who were walking through the chilly park trying to get in their exercise for the day. The place was deserted otherwise because of the season, but he knew that in the summer, it was usually packed with people, and the two marinas adjacent to it were always busy.

John led his father out onto a small peninsula that bordered one of the marinas and ended in a pile of rocks. They reached the end of the trail, and they could see someone sitting among the rocks looking up at the sky. Jeff was ready to dash out there, but John put a hand on his arm.

"Let me go. I want to talk to him." John watched his father and could see the need to reach his son, to help him. "Trust me."

Slowly he nodded and stepped back a bit.

John smiled a little and mounted the rocks, taking it slow and making his way to the end. He found a small bare spot next to Scott and carefully sat down next to him.

Scott had seen him coming, had watched him make his way to where he sat. John was next to him, and he just sat there and watched him. Finally, after several minutes of silence, he reached up and touched the bloody matted hair that covered the wound he had given his brother.

John winced a little but didn't push him away.

"Did I…?" Scott was frowning, his brows drawn together.

"Probably. Don't really remember, but you were the only other one in the apartment at the time." John shrugged as if it had just been an accident, as if Scott hadn't meant to hit him upside the head with one of the small metal statues that decorated their temporary home.

"I don't even remember it… I just remember sitting down here, nothing before that." Scott was looking at him wide-eyed, begging for an answer that John couldn't give him. "John, what is wrong with me?"

John just lowered his gaze to the rocks below them and picked up a small one, weighing it in his hand. "We don't know, Scott. You won't tell us."

"That's in the past. Talking about it now isn't going to change what happened!"

"It's only in the past when you no longer think about it, when it no longer dictates how you live." John kept his voice calm and low, he wasn't forcing his opinion on him, he was just telling him how he saw it. "Is it still in your head? What happened in Afghanistan."

"Every second of the day."

"Why won't you tell us?"

"I don't want you to know."

"Why not?"

"I… I did something… something I'm not proud of."

"Well, you haven't been discharged yet, or did you lie in your report?"

"No!" Scott raised his voice, the truth evident in it. "I told the truth in my report. They saw it as an accident, but I could have prevented it. I should have been able to!" Scott picked up a rock and threw it into the water at their feet as hard as he could. They were quiet for a moment as a jumbo jet flew low over their heads as it made its way to the airport across the water.

"Do you remember? You promised that if you ever needed help, you would come find me?"

"This is different." Scott ran his hands through his hair, pulling on it a little as if that would help him think. "If I tell you, if I tell Dad, you'll both look at me differently. I won't be the same anymore."

"It's not different. You need help, you come look for me." John looked over at Scott from the corner of his eye and sighed. "I already look at you differently." John threw the rock he held, and it skipped twice across the water. "We are adults and we are human. None of us are perfect." John let a small smile curl the edge of his lip as he looked over at Scott. "Did you know that I hated your guts when we were in high school?"

"You did? Why?"

"Because I thought you were perfect. You played sports, were on the honor roll, part of school government, had lots of friends, everyone knew you and liked you. Me, on the other hand, struggled in History and English and any kind of art, I barely got As. I didn't really have any friends, being in crowds has always bothered me. You were always surrounded by a group, laughing and having fun, while I was sitting by myself in the corner. I was jealous of you."

"And I was jealous of you." Scott didn't smile nor did he look at John. Instead, he looked up at the orange sky above them.

"Why?" John couldn't help but chuckle a little.

"Because you made school look easy. I had to study, and study hard to get the grades that I did. The sports and the school government stuff didn't help, but you just had to read it and did well. At least that's what I thought."

"Well, my point is, I loved you when we were kids. I hated you when we were teenagers. And now, I love you again as adults. We are always changing, Scott. Only it is up to us whether that change is for better or for worse." John scooted himself around so he was facing his brother. "Yes, when you tell us what happened, it will change the way we think about you. But the past few months have changed that as well. The only thing I am sure of is this: We will still love you. You are my brother, and I wouldn't change that for the world."

"Even if I told you I killed a man." Scott was watching John from the corner of his eye and caught the small jerk at his words.

"That is a hard one." John took in a deep breath and glanced past Scott to where their dad stood waiting. "But you were in the military. There was always a chance of that happening."

"It wasn't the enemy. It was an ally."

"Oh." John looked out over the water for a moment, "But you said that you told the truth in your report. And that the Air Force has declared it an accident—"

"It wasn't an accident!" Scott punched one of the large rocks next to him. "I should have been able to prevent it. I should have been able to stop it."

"Did you do it on purpose?"

"No!"

"Did you have the intent to kill when you went into the situation?"

"No!"

"Did you wish for the man to be dead?"

"No!" Scott punched the rock with each denial.

John leaned forward and pulled Scott's fist to him, stretching out his hand and looking at his bloodied knuckles. "Were you trying to stop him from killing someone else?"

"No." Scott's voice was weak and shaky.

"Was he trying to kill himself?"

Scott didn't answer, just stared out at the water before them.

"Then it sounds like it was an accident."

"I pulled on the trigger! The safety was on! It was supposed to be on!" Scott pulled his hand away and stared out at the water before them. "But… but it wasn't."

"I think you should tell Dad."

"No! I can't… I feel like I've disappointed him enough as it is."

"You haven't disappointed him. You can't, none of us could mess up enough to disappoint him."

"I doubt that."

"Scott, look at me." John reached over and took his brother's face in his hands, making him look away from the water. "He is worried about you. Scared for you. I've never seen him so worried. It reminded me of when Mom died. Only, you're still here and he has to watch you die over and over again. Scott, you need to tell him, even if it is only him, he will understand."

"How would he understand?"

"I just know he will. Trust me. Better yet, I bet you fifty bucks he will start crying and hold onto you, telling you what a silly boy you are." John stood up and dusted his pants off, holding his hand out to Scott.

Scott looked up at him, frowning, still unsure about what to do, but the sky was getting dark and the air was getting colder, he knew he couldn't stay out there too much longer. So he reached up and took John's hand, standing up. They made their way back to where Jeff was standing, and John pushed Scott toward their father as he made his way to a nearby bench.

John sat down and watched as Scott studied the paved ground, scuffing the toe of his shoe as he told their father the CliffNotes version of what had happened.

Their father's hands clenched firmly as Scott announced that he had killed a man and the circumstances behind it. John could tell, though, that it wasn't out of anger, but because he was trying to suppress his feelings, to give Scott plenty of time to say all he wanted to say.

Finally Scott quieted down and looked up at their father, clearly afraid at what he would find.

Their father was crying, though he was wiping his face with his hand in an attempt to stop the tears. He reached out and pulled Scott into a hug, burying his face in Scott's hair. "You stupid boy. Why would I be mad? Why would I judge you for that? I'm just glad you're here, glad you didn't die in the crash, glad you didn't get captured."

"But I killed a man."

"You tried to stop him and weren't able to." Jeff pulled away and made Scott look straight at him. "I know you feel differently, but that is how I see it. You did only what you were able to. I'm sorry you weren't able to save him, but you did your best, and that is all you can do."

Scott sighed and looked over at John, who smiled back at him. "I think we need to get John to the hospital."

"Yes, we do." Jeff turned his gaze upon the second eldest and frowned. "Up and back to the car. Once we get you both patched up" —Jeff looked down at Scott's hand and raised an eyebrow at him—"there is something I want to talk to you two about. Something I have been working on for some time now. Virgil is in on it already, but I've been waiting for the right time to talk to you two. I think now will do."

Scott and John exchanged curious looks but shrugged and followed their father back to the car.

* * *

"Jeez, that's was when Dad told us about…" Scott couldn't help but smile a little. "About this." He opened his arms to encompass Thunderbird 5 and everything associated with it.

"Yeah. Virgil wasn't out scouting islands, he was out prepping Tracy Island for more hardware. They just hadn't gotten communications established yet." John sipped at his cup of coffee. It was morning again, they had spent the entire night talking. "Do you remember after that?"

"Yeah. I finally told you all everything that happened. The whole story."

"Was it easier afterwards?"

"I won't deny it, it felt good to be wrong." Scott leaned on his hand and watched the Earth for a moment.

"Yet you still haven't told the others, why?"

"They were too young. Gordon and Alan especially."

"They've grown up a bit."

"That they have." Scott sighed and looked up at John. "You think I should tell them?"

"You're going to have to tell the GDF. I think it's only fair they find out as well."

"I'll no longer be the perfect older brother, though."

"Scott, you never were the perfect older brother. That's me." John smirked a little as a smile spread on Scott's face.

"In your dreams."

"Quite often, yes."

"Alright." Scott sighed and stood up and stretched. "Could you go down and collect them? I could use a little bit of prep time."

"Sure. I'll see you down there." John stood and pulled his brother into a hug before turning and heading for the space elevator.

As soon as John had started his decent, Scott stopped the gravity ring and let himself float, letting all the worries, fears, and stress of the past couple of days—no, years—drift off into the emptiness of space. When he heard the soft clunk of the elevator's return, he opened his eyes, bright and clear, to this new stage of his life.

"John, what is going on?" Alan was dragging his feet as he made his way into the lounge.

"Yeah, I figured we'd be able to sleep in." Gordon yawned as well.

"If you two hadn't been up all night scheming ways to get back at the GDF, you wouldn't be so tired right now." Virgil couldn't help but smile as he handed the two youngest some coffee.

"Scott wants to talk to us all." John nodded as Grandma, Kayo, and Brains joined them.

"John, is everything okay?" Grandma asked as she sat down next to Gordon.

"I think it is now." John smiled as a small alarm sounded, signaling the arrival of the elevator.

They waited eagerly for Scott to arrive. Alan and Gordon relayed some of their plans they had come up with while staying up—most of them completely undoable—but even they quieted down when Scott finally entered the room.

"Morning." He was smiling, though he looked tired. "I'm sorry if I worried you guys. A lot happened yesterday."

"Gordon and I have plans, don't we, Gordon? If you want us, we can take Thunderbird 2 and destroy the headquarters, or I can do a flyby with Thunderbird 3!" Alan was on his feet, his eyes wide and only on Scott.

"No, Alan. I don't want to destroy the GDF." Scott smiled and ruffled Alan's hair. "They were just making sure that International Rescue was in good hands. Tomorrow, I have to go back and prove to them that it is."

"Well, of course it is! You are Jeff Tracy's son. You all are. There is no one better to run this organization than you lot."

"Thank you, Grandma. I think everything is going to turn out okay with them." Scott was still smiling, though it wasn't quite as bright as it had first been. "I want to talk to you guys about what happened in Afghanistan, but more importantly, what happened after."

"After? You went back to Nellis and worked." Alan frowned at his brother.

"For a bit, yes. But a good portion of my remaining time in the Air Force was spent in Dad's San Francisco penthouse with him and John." Everyone turned to look at John, who was sitting quietly at their father's desk.

"So, those times I asked to come down for the weekend?"

"That was mostly me telling you no." John sighed and leaned his head on his hand. "Scott wasn't… well, this is his story. Not mine."

"Scott?" Alan was looking at the eldest, eyes full of worry, concern, and just a bit of disbelief.

Scott took a deep breath, held it for a moment, and then let it out. "After coming back from Afghanistan, while I was working at Nellis. I couldn't get over what had happened." He held up his hands as Gordon started to open his mouth. "I will tell you, but I want to say this bit first." He looked around the small group, and when it looked as if none of them would stop him, he took a deep breath again and just said it. "I tried to kill myself. I tried to commit suicide."

The room was quiet for a moment, still, as if time had stopped. Then it exploded.

"What!" Alan jumped to his feet looking from Scott to John and back to Scott. "How? Why? I mean, I was there, why didn't you call me! I told you I would come down if you needed me to!"

"Are you kidding? Please tell me you're kidding!" Gordon was on his feet as well, trying to make eye contact with Scott.

"Shit, Scott! I knew… I mean, I didn't, but I thought something… but this… I mean, how… the calls from the hospital… I just thought… I would never have… God!" Virgil had his head in his hands, trying to process any thought he could.

Kayo and Brains had both gasped but remained silent, letting the closer family members react to the news.

Grandma Tracy said nothing. She just stood, walked over to Scott, and gave him the tightest hug she could manage. Scott just held her back, letting a few stray tears fall down his cheek. She pulled away after a minute and then looked up at him. "If you do anything like that ever again—" She was waving her finger at him, and he could only chuckle a little.

"Alright, please calm down." He was lowering his hands, trying to get the group to calm down a little. "It obviously didn't happen." Scott gave John a meaningful look, but nobody else seemed to notice. "I was depressed, and it… well, I'm still not sure what I was thinking at the time."

"You weren't thinking, that's what," Gordon spat, his arms crossed.

"Probably not." Scott shrugged. "However, it did happen. If you all could be patient for a few hours, I want to tell you the whole story. Everything." There were no complaints, no buts, or not nows. They all quieted down and waited. And Scott told them.

Scott was once again standing at the podium in front of the five generals at GDF headquarters. Colonel Casey was behind him, sitting on the bench. He had invited her this time, he had wanted her there.

"I still do not think I deserved the medal of honor I received, but others apparently do. I was not brave. I only did what I could to survive. I only did what I could do to get home, to my family, to my brothers." Scott had told them everything as well. He refused to look behind him, didn't want to know what was going through Colonel Casey's mind. Seeing the reactions of those before him was bad enough. "I am not a seasoned Air Force pilot. I do not have years upon years of service under my belt. I actively served for two and a half years. I flew several missions while in Afghanistan, only one of which was a failure. I tried to save three men's lives and only saved two.

"After my discharge, I continued to train, continued to fly, and helped my father make his dream come true. That dream was International Rescue. I may be seen as the head of the organization, but in truth, I do not have the authority to make anyone do anything. We work together. We all have ideas and we all agree on the best action in any particular situation. I am the deciding vote, I try to be the voice of reason. I am not their leader. We are a family. We work as a family. Our father is now gone, something we would have never expected to happen, but it has. We are saddened by this, we have mourned. However, all we want to do now is to continue our father's dream. We just want to rescue those that need to be rescued. To save those that wouldn't have been saved otherwise."

"Do you see each rescue you go on as just another opportunity to make right what you were unable to do for Lieutenant Riley?" Major Belousov was once again leaning across the table to look down at Scott.

"I won't lie. I hope that for every person I save, I can be forgiven for what happened to him." Scott took in a breath and steeled himself even more. "But not just Rayford Riley. For every person out there that we were not able to save, for every life that was just out of even our reaches. I hope that we can be forgiven by saving others. By giving them the chance that those few did not."

"Very well. Are you done?" Belousov frowned as he leaned back at his chair. Scott nodded, and the major picked up his pen and looked down at the paper that sat before him. "Major General Huston. What is your opinion on this matter?"

"As much as I want International Rescue to continue their mission, I am wary to allow them to operate without an experienced commander at the helm. I am sorry, Scott. I know how much this organization means to you and your brothers, but my vote is no for continuing our association with you."

"Very well. Major General Andreasson?"

"While I understand General Huston's reservations, I feel that Jefferson Tracy organized and trained his men well. I think they will work well keeping the organization afloat. I vote yes for our continued association."

"Alright. Brigadier General Diaz?"

"I must agree with General Huston. An organization such as this needs strong leadership. I'm afraid I cannot trust that leadership to a twenty-seven-year-old man with PTSD. My answer is no."

"And Major General Sal?"

"I have been hesitant and untrusting of Mr. Tracy from the beginning. However, I have decided to let my vote be decided by someone else. Lieutenant Colonel Huey?"

Scott jumped and his eyes widened at the name. A man stepped around the end of the raised bench which the generals sat behind. He looked younger than what Scott remembered, but then, that hadn't been at the best of times. Scott swallowed the lump that was in his throat and bobbed his head at the man standing there.

"Somehow it doesn't surprise me that you and your family are behind the Thunderbirds." He wasn't smiling, Scott didn't think he knew how to smile. "I blamed you for a long time for Riley's death. Far longer than I should have. I don't know if it will make a difference now or not, but it wasn't your fault. They had been trying to get him to commit suicide for a long time. They wanted to tape it and use it as leverage against the rest of the world. He had tried to get your gun multiple times, I should have told you.

"However, this is not about that. This is about International Rescue. You are young, you are still inexperienced. However, I think you were born to help people, and taking this organization away from you now would only hurt not only you and your family, but the world as well. My recommendation is for the GDF to continue their association with your organization."

"Then that is my vote as well. Yes, for continued association with International Rescue." General Sal nodded and looked to Belousov.

"It seems as if I am the tie breaker. I, Lieutenant General Belousov, cast my vote—"

"Sir, may I make one last suggestion before you announce your decision." Scott was staring straight at the general, confidence still flowing through him.

"Go ahead." The general pressed his lips together and frowned.

"I understand that I do not have very much experience. My suggestion is this, then: A liaison. Someone from the GDF that will have contact with us on a regular basis to make sure we are running things properly and making the right decisions. They would also be there for us to contact should we need the GDF's help in return."

"And who would this liaison be?"

"I recommend Colonel Casey. She is well-respected within the GDF and also knows our family well." Scott did not turn around, he had not mentioned this to the colonel, but he could feel her staring at the back of his neck.

"And what is your thoughts on this, colonel?"

"If it is the general's decision, then I would be happy to take on the role."

General Huston cleared his throat and leaned forward to look at Belousov. "If this is an option, I am willing to change my vote."

"General Diaz?"

"My vote remains the same."

"Very well, even if I were to vote no—which was my intent—with this new option General Diaz and I are out voted."

Scott let out the breath he was holding and finally let his shoulders slump a little.

"Colonel Casey, we will need to have some meetings to outline your new duties."

"Yes, sir."

"My assistant will be in contact. You are dismissed."

Scott leaned down on the podium, a little deflated from it all. There was a figure next to him, and he popped up when he realized who it was.

"I never had the opportunity to thank you." Lt. Colonel Huey still wasn't smiling, but he didn't have as hard of an expression on anymore.

"I didn't do—"

"If you hadn't known where we were going, we would have been wandering forever in that desert until they had found us and recaptured us again. If you hadn't freed us in the first place, who knows where we would have ended up."

"But they found the other scouts."

"Yes, a year later. I was part of those missions. Most of them are still in hospitals, unable to take care of themselves. Some were successful where you failed and are now with Riley and your friends."

"Still, I—"

"Take a compliment when it's given. I know you will succeed with your father's dream. Even though you were suffering, you did not let me or your captain down. You got us out of there. Thank you."

"Um, you're welcome." Scott wasn't sure what to do but saluted in lieu of anything else. Huey saluted back and then left.

"Scott, a word."

Scott frowned as he turned to the colonel. "I'm sorry, I should have—"

"Yes, a little heads up would have been nice; however, it was a good idea and I'm happy to be involved." She was smiling and shook her head slightly. "That's not what I want to say, though. I know your father would be very proud of you right now, and since he can't, I will." She reached out and pulled Scott into a quick, tight hug. "You did an excellent job." She let go and stepped away from the young man. "That was between you and me, no one else shall know."

"Yes, colonel." Scott was smiling and blushing a little.

"Now, tell John I will be in contact with him shortly. General Belousov has given the okay for IR to restart operations once you get back to the island. Though I recommend you all get a good night's sleep first."

"People don't get saved while we sleep." Scott smiled and straightening up a bit, the thought that they could be out on a rescue soon energizing him.

"Nor do they get saved if you cannot function."

"Understood." Scott nodded, a smile spreading wide across his face.

"Go, save people."

"Yes, ma'am." Scott saluted her sloppily and turned quickly, leaving the room.

Scott wasn't even out of the building before he had his wrist communicator up and calling John.

"Scott? What's the news?" John's face popped up on the small screen, his eyes dark with worry.

"Patch me through to the island."

John watched as the light brightened around Scott's head as he exited the building, but nodded and hit the necessary buttons.

"Scott?"

"Scott!"

"Dude! What's going on! Tell us!"

Scott couldn't help but laugh at his brothers. "It's good news. We're back in business!"

"Yes!"

"I knew you could do it!"

"Alright!"

"About time!"

"Well, at least once I'm home we are." Scott was still smiling as he flopped down into his car. "There are some conditions. I'll tell you all about them when I'm back. So you guys need to make sure the birds are fully fueled and ready to go."

"F.A.B."

"I hope there's a space mission!"

"You know we'll be ready!"

"I'm already monitoring some potential situations up here."

"Good to hear." Scott leaned back in the seat and listened to the silence as his brothers waited for what he would say next. "As long as there are people out there that need to be rescued, we will do all we can to save them. Just as Dad dreamed."


End file.
